


Uthando

by kamerlort



Series: Uthando [1]
Category: Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Real World, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Violence, Multi, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-03-21 23:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13751481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamerlort/pseuds/kamerlort
Summary: It’s the year 1934, and world-renowned archeologist Dr. Smolder Bravestone enlists the help of globetrotting adventurers for his latest mission. Professor Sheldon Oberon agrees to join the expedition, but soon realizes that the journey will be much more dangerous than he thought, especially when a handsome young pilot is thrown into the mix.





	1. The Departure

**Author's Note:**

> Without a doubt, my favorite movie of 2017 was Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle. This movie ruined me. Jack Black and Nick Jonas ruined me. I hope you all enjoy this little fic that’s been haunting me for two months since I first watched it. Updates will be soon, and any comments/feedback is appreciated!

It all started with an envelope.

The banging gongs of the campus bells signaled noon, and Professor Sheldon Oberon was trying to enjoy the short break he had for lunch in the privacy of his office. The keyword here was _trying_ , as he had spent a good five minutes fending off a small swarm of students that ambushed him in the hall.  
  
Thankfully, the Professor eventually found solitude in the adequately-sized room where he stored most of his books and research. The well-worn chair that was gifted to him on his first day at the job provided much-needed comfort for Oberon’s tired body. When he had finally managed to sit down with a heavy sigh, he caught sight of the mysteriously placed letter sitting neatly in the center of his large, wooden desk. Strangely enough there was not a return address, just the good Professor’s name written in swooping ink.  
  
Natural curiosity beginning to teem, Oberon shifted his gaze from the simple brown sack that carried his lunch to the inviting, off-white stationary. Stomach growling be damned, he decided to take a quick peek into the envelope. It could do him no harm to sacrifice fifteen or so seconds to divulge it of its secrets.  
  
That was his first mistake.  
  
The Professor was no simpleton, but when he had extracted the contents from the envelope with surgical precision, he was delightfully confused.  
  
It was a map.  
  
Quickly rubbing his fingers against the scratchy wool of his cardigan, Oberon readjusted the circular frames perched near the end of his nose, eyes narrowed in concentration, and leaned in closer. Leaving his lunch forgotten at his side, he extracted his favorite magnifying glass from a nearby drawer without severing his gaze from the discolored paper.  
  
For starters, the map was missing a huge piece from its upper right-hand corner. The cartographer let himself mourn for only a moment, lamenting the loss of craftsmanship that was most likely dated back at least half a century. Ink legible yet faded, Oberon waved his magnifying glass over the paper with careful diligence.  
  
The Professor was puzzled. Peculiarly, the map had no name and no marks that indicated an exact location. It displayed an island, modest in size and extending out into a crown shape at the top. Small sections of artwork depicting sweeping hills and plunging canyons weren’t much to indicate where the island was located. Scratching at his beard, he continued to rake his eyes across the markings, barely blinking for fear of missing details.  
  
Before the Professor had any idea how far off his gauge of time was, the five-minute warning bell trilled throughout the university grounds. Oberon, shocked from his intense scrutiny of the map, glared at the clock that hung comfortably above the solid oak door before him.  
  
Heaving a sigh, the Professor shot a look of disdain towards the still-untouched sack of food that slumped against a stack of graded papers. All traces of his previous hunger were gone.

 

 

Several hours had long since passed before Oberon had another chance to pour over the map.

Truth be told, the Professor was exhausted. His classes had seemed to stretch on longer than usual, and his students also seemed more apathetic to his lessons. Overall, it wasn’t what he would consider to be a productive day. Oberon also had trouble concentrating on his teachings when his mind seemed to slink back to thoughts of the perplexing map, resting snugly in the breast pocket of his jacket.  
   
When the final bell had rang, the Professor tried his best to not dash back to his office like a madman. Half walking, half jogging, Oberon had made it back in a record amount of time, and nearly threw himself to the floor in the haste of trying to quickly situate himself in his chair.  
   
Allowing himself a moment of composure, Oberon took the map into his gentle hold once more, spreading it out as if it were precious strands of gold in his fingertips.  
   
The map was oddly mesmerizing. Heart thrumming in his chest like the beat of heavy drums, the Professor gently ran a finger along the ridge of the tear, captivated.  
   
Without warning, the phone at his desk let out a shrill cry, the vibrations traveling through his wooden desk like a jackhammer. Startled, Oberon let out a shuddering gasp, extracting his shaking hands from the map. Clearing his throat in embarrassment, he quickly snatched the phone from the receiver, fitting it snugly against his ear.  
   
“Professor Sheldon Oberon speaking.”  
   
He was only met with silence. Oberon blinked, confused.  
   
“Uh... hello?”  
   
When the silence stretched on for a few moments more, Oberon felt a cold rush of anxiety trickle down his spine, and he licked his lips, barely making a sound. An almost inaudible huff of breath ghosted against his ear, and the Professor felt himself tensing up, unknowingly afraid.  
   
“... Are you alone?” A phantom voice hissed, deep and imposing.  
   
The Professor took in a sharp breath, throat dry. Willing himself to respond, he pressed a thumb deep against the pulse point at his wrist.  
   
“W-who is this?”  
   
“You received the envelope, yes?”  
   
Oberon gaped, eyes glued to the door of his office. The man on the other line let out a noise of affirmation at the Professor’s silence.  
   
“Professor Oberon, I do not mean to alarm you. You have seen what was inside the envelope, I’m assuming?”  
   
“I—I have,” Oberon replied, voice barely above a whisper.  
   
“It is extremely important that you do not let it leave your sight. I cannot give you much information, but I need you to listen carefully.”  
   
The Professor nodded to himself slowly, eyes wide and unblinking. “Alright. I’m listening.”  
   
“The British Museum. One hour. Be there, and I’ll explain more. It isn’t safe over the phone.”  
   
Stomach tightening in fear, Oberon let out a yelp. “You—you know where I live?” He questioned, voice pitched higher than normal.  
   
“Professor, I assure you, I do not intend to do you harm. If you want answers about that map, you’ll come. Everything will be explained. The British Museum. One hour.”  
   
Before the Professor could even let out a word of protest, the line went dead. For several seconds, Oberon couldn’t move a muscle, petrified in his chair like a piece of solid stone.  
   
Eyes slowly trailing upward toward the familiar clock, he let out a shiver. It was just a quarter past nine, and the British Museum would surely be dark and dreary in the late November weather. Unguarded. Deserted.  
   
Oberon swallowed, dragging his gaze back to the map.  
   
Stomach sinking with the realization that he was almost certainly going to meet his fate, he snatched the map up in his arms, threw on his coat, perched his hat precariously on his head, and raced out of the office.

 

 

Less than an hour later, Professor Oberon was parked along the side of the road overlooking the British Museum, hands glued tightly to his car’s steering wheel. The windshield wipers were working at a breakneck pace, the typical London rain beating against the glass in tandem.

He was an idiot.  
   
It had taken the Professor less than twenty minutes to arrive at the museum, and he was still in the exact same position as he had been twenty five minutes earlier. Arms aching due to his superhuman grip on the wheel, he stared out into the darkness before him, headlights off and the area around him bathed in darkness.  
   
This was a huge mistake. Oberon was out of his mind.  
   
The now-offensive piece of paper that started this whole charade was nestled in the breast pocket of his coat. Oberon’s glasses were beginning to fog up as the cold air outside pressed against the damp heat within his automobile.  
   
In the distance, Oberon thought he had seen a flash of movement against the smattering raindrops. Heart now beating wildly in his chest, he reached for the gearshift at his foot, palm sweating against the black knob of the handle. Sitting still as his eyes searched the darkness outside, he slowly eased his foot from the gas pedal.  
   
Nothing appeared in the view of his windshield. Oberon let out an immediate sigh of relief, easing back into the leather seat.  
   
Just then, the passenger side door of his car was flung open, rain immediately whipping against the interior of the car. The Professor let out a shriek as an enormous hand reached in and grabbed him by his right lapel. Frantically beating the hand in an attempt to escape, Oberon saw the rest of the man whom the appendage belonged to slink into the car and slam the door shut.  
   
Before Oberon lost his voice from shrieking, two warm palms enveloped his face and gently shut him up. Grabbing at the wrists with dwarfed strength, Oberon stared, wide-eyed at the towering figure that seemed to take up more than half of the car.  
   
“Shh! Be _quiet_ , Professor!”  
   
Oberon merely continued to squirm, feet moving into position to roughly kick at the intruder’s tender areas. Sensing Oberon’s intentions, the man pressed his monstrous body further into the Professor’s space. To his surprise, a flashlight suddenly illuminated the inside of the vehicle, and Oberon went completely still as he caught sight of the man before him.  
   
For starters, he was a real-life giant. The muscles that strained against the tan material of his suit were barely contained, rippling beneath the surface. He wore a simple hat upon his head, also tan in color, but still revealed a lack of hair beside his ears. However, neither his size nor his clothing indicated whether he was friend or foe, but rather his face that had caused Oberon to go slack in awe, the recognizable complexion and intense gaze freezing him in place.  
   
Letting out a muffled yell, Oberon desperately tried to pry the stranger’s hand away from his mouth. Seeming to notice the shift in the Professor’s behavior, the other man slowly extracted his grip and leaned back, warily displaying his hands in peaceful surrender.  
   
“Y-you’re _him_! You’re—“  
   
“Dr. Smolder Bravestone, at your service.”  
   
All traces of fear left Oberon’s body immediately, readily replaced by unbridled glee. “You’re really him! Dr. Bravestone—I’m—your work in archeology, it’s—“  
   
The Professor’s sudden joyous disposition quickly morphed into reasonable confusion.  
   
“Wait. Dr. Bravestone, how—how do you know who I am? And why are you here?”  
   
Bravestone was quietly sitting with a humble smile on his face. Oberon noticed that the rain had left him completely soaked to the bone, the pristine suit he wore now dripping heavily onto the black leather seat.  
   
“Professor Oberon. I apologize for my secrecy over the phone, and the heart attack I most likely inflicted upon you now. I need your help, as you might know. You still have the map with you, correct?”  
   
“I—yeah. Yes,” Oberon stuttered as he fumbled to extract it from the pocket of his coat, fingers shaking. Slowly easing it into Dr. Bravestone’s hand, he searched the other man’s face, more confused than he had ever felt in his life. “What exactly is it a map of?”  
   
Dr. Bravestone took a moment to look over the map, nodding in thought. Peeking up at Oberon through dark lashes, he cleared his throat for response.  
   
“It’s a map of an extremely isolated area off the coast of Africa, which the native people call Jumanji. This map is the only one that fully details it’s landscape.”  
   
“Jumanji?” Oberon questioned, perplexed. “I’ve never heard of any place called Jumanji.”  
   
“Exactly,” Dr. Bravestone muttered, carefully folding the map once more. “That’s why I’ll need your expertise in cartography when we get there.”  
   
Professor Oberon merely gaped at the archeologist as he pulled a delicate piece of paper from his own breast pocket, blue and red dotting the perimeter and a stamp fastened to the back.  
   
“Is that—“  
   
“A letter, yes. It was mailed to me by the same man who sent you the map.”  
   
Oberon paused, confused. “Wait. You weren’t the one who sent me the map?”  
   
“No,” Bravestone answered as he carefully laid both the map and the letter against his knee. “You can thank the good Nigel Billingsley for that.”  
   
Before Oberon even had a chance to ask who that was, Dr. Bravestone held up his hand and carefully preened over the papers in his lap. After a moment of consideration, he met Oberon’s gaze, expressionless.  
   
“If I were able to get you to the island on this map, would you be able to navigate the landscape accurately and efficiently?”  
   
An inkling of suspicion began to form in the Professor’s stomach. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he carefully mulled over a response.  
   
“It depends. Why exactly would I need to be navigating the area for?”  
   
A contemplative look washed over Dr. Bravestone’s face. Avoiding Oberon’s gaze, he swiped a hand across his neck, almost nervous in a way.  
   
“There’s an artifact. A piece of Jumanji that needs to be returned to its rightful place.”  
   
“An artifact?”  
   
The now uncomfortable look on Dr. Bravestone’s face made Oberon even more suspicious. Slowly easing away from the larger man, he fixed him with an accusatory stare, hand now readily gripping the handle to his door if he needed an escape.  
   
“It’s not something that’s dangerous, is it?”  
   
“Unfortunately, yes. It is.”  
   
That was all that Oberon needed to hear. Quickly grabbing hold of the steering wheel and throttling the car’s ignition, he eyed the archeologist out of the corner of his eye and began to babble a retreat.  
   
“Thank you for the offer, Dr. Bravestone, but I have to decline. I’m definitely not the person you’re looking for. Your line of work if far too perilous for the likes of me! It was a pleasure meeting you, big fan!”  
   
Dr. Bravestone wasted no time in leaning over to snatch his keys from the ignition, face now contorted with annoyance.  
   
“Professor Oberon, you’re the only man I know who can help us. In fact, you came personally recommended by Billingsley himself. It’s not only me who needs your help. I have three other people that will be joining me on our mission.”  
   
Oberon scoffed, nervous energy bubbling to the surface. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you! I’m a professor, and I have several important uh— _duties_ to attend to! I can’t just abandon my students and take an unexpected expedition to God-knows-where!”  
   
“I have connections, Professor. I could easily get you a month of time off to assist us, maybe more.”  
   
Shaking his head while still firmly glued to the wheel, Oberon continued to protest. “Dr. Bravestone, it really is an honor to meet you and know that you would like my assistance but—but I’m no adventurer.”

Bravestone paused, expressionless. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he sighed, running a hand across his forehead.

“I understand. It’s completely your decision, and I will respect that.”  
   
The Professor blanched, unsteadily meeting the archeologist’s dark gaze. Something in the man’s eyes made Oberon feel the desperation that was already beginning to poke through his words. Momentarily letting his eyes flitter back to the map that rested in Bravestone’s lap, the Professor felt a pang of want, the initial secrets that it held now open for discovery. Stomach twisting uncomfortably, he allowed himself a deep breath of composure before responding.  
   
“I suppose if I had better context, I might be agreeable to helping you out, Dr. Bravestone.”  
   
Barely-contained relief broke through Bravestone’s hardened façade. Arching an eyebrow, he carefully considered his next few words.  
   
“This artifact—it’s known as the Jaguar’s Eye. There’s a man who’s after it, and he intends to use it for his own selfish gain. He was once my partner and colleague, many years ago.”  
   
Professor Oberon swallowed, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. Bravestone continued.  
   
“His name is Russel Van Pelt. He was an explorer, and together we traveled the globe in search of rare artifacts from the past. Several years ago, we had a... falling out, of sorts. Van Pelt’s greed vastly overshadowed his former love of exploration and discovery. We haven’t talked in many years. I hadn’t known he was still active until I received this letter from Billingsley, who assisted him in exploring Jumanji.”  
   
The intense look upon the archeologist’s face made the Professor shiver.  
   
“Van Pelt... is he dangerous?”  
   
Bravestone nodded, unblinking. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get the Jaguar’s Eye back into his possession. He’s changed from the man I once knew all those years ago. That’s precisely why I need you to come with me, I can’t navigate the land myself. The jewel needs to be taken back to it’s resting place at the Jaguar Shrine.”  
   
Dr. Bravestone scooped the map up, carefully folding it and placing it into Professor Oberon’s hands. Staring back at him over the rims of his spectacles, Oberon sighed, rubbing anxiously at the corner of the frayed paper.  
   
“I’m not sure why this Jaguar’s Eye is so important, but I suppose... I suppose I can help you navigate, at the very least. I do know how to read maps.”  
   
Suddenly lurching forward, Dr. Bravestone slammed his open palm against Oberon’s shoulder and let out a exclamation of glee. Jumping slightly at the force of his appreciation, Oberon gave the larger man a crooked smile in return, watching as he attempted to wipe the seat clean of water droplets as he leapt from the automobile.  
   
“Thank you so much, Professor Oberon!” Bravestone bellowed, the pounding rain nearly deafening his booming voice. “You won’t regret this! I’ll visit you at your office Monday morning. Be sure you’re ready and packed for adventure!”  
   
With a quick wave goodbye, the Professor watched as the hulking mass that was Dr. Bravestone disappeared into the dark of London night, sans coat.

 

 

The day Monday arrived was the day that Professor Oberon realized Bravestone was undeniably a man of his word.  
   
His classes were empty when Oberon arrived at seven o’clock. After a quick interlude with the Chancellor (who had simply wished him good luck on his travels, eyes not moving from the newspaper in front of him), the Professor simply waited in his office for Dr. Bravestone to arrive, nervously picking at his suit sleeves.  
   
As expected, the map was laid out on his desk once more, and the Professor was immensely glad that Bravestone entrusted it to his care, enabling him to partake in it’s insight to the mysterious world of Jumanji. Oberon was careful to not poke his fingers against the faded ink, carefully pouring over it with his magnifying glass and scribbling key points on a spare parchment sheet. Just in case.  
   
Before 10 o’clock had passed, Bravestone appeared in all his fantastic glory, dry and dressed in pleated pants and a polo that could barely contain his figure. He had graciously taken all of the Professor’s luggage in one trip, barely breaking a sweat as Oberon struggled to follow behind.  
   
The taxi drive to the Heathrow Aerodrome had been filled with mostly silence. Dr. Bravestone had that smoldering look of concentration on his face that the Professor was not keen on interrupting. Fiddling with his bowtie, he spent the next half hour wondering why he had agreed to this wild goose chase in the first place, cursing himself as his anxiety grew tenfold with each kilometre that passed.  
   
Upon their arrival, Professor Oberon noted that it had been almost four years since he had last flown in an aeroplane. His innate fear of flying was justified—the journey from his native home in California had been fraught with terrible weather and turbulence. Now nervous for a plethora of other reasons, the Professor slowly trailed Bravestone as they navigated through long hallways that eventually lead them to the airstrip itself, the tarmac permeating heat from above.  
   
Oberon had been completely taken aback when Dr. Bravestone had stopped their cart of luggage alongside an Avro 618 Ten. Looking from the aeroplane to Bravestone and back again, he pointed a finger at the metal machine, finding he was at a loss for words.  
   
“We’re traveling cross-continent in _that_?” Oberon choked out, fear now coursing through every vein in his body. Dr. Bravestone merely laughed at his reaction, handing their luggage to the nearby assistant that was currently loading their cargo.  
   
“It’s alright, Professor. She’s as safe as they come, and we have the best pilot in all the Western Hemisphere steering her towards victory.”  
   
The Professor couldn’t respond, eyes still glued to the thin, metal wings. It was an incredibly small plane, one that would most likely implode upon forceful impact. The entrance to the death-trap was a few short steps on a rickety staircase. Gripping his satchel with one hand and his hat with the other, Oberon pointedly looked away from the ground below him and teetered carefully behind Dr. Bravestone as they finally pushed past the door and into the plane.  
   
Once Bravestone moved over, the Professor noticed that there were two people already seated before him. Stopping in his tracks, he eyed the two with a curious gaze. On his left was a redheaded woman who had propped her feet up on a box marked _fragile_. To his right, a man in a boonie cap was currently rifling through a rucksack, the distant clang of metal against metal grating against his ears.  
   
Simultaneously, the pair looked back at Oberon with disinterest. The redhead merely sized him up for a moment, fingers swiping against the shiny edge of a blade in hand. Fear prickling once again, Oberon quickly shuffled into the nearest seat behind the other man, thankful when he saw Dr. Bravestone approaching in his peripheral vision.  
   
“Professor, I see you’ve met Ruby Roundhouse and Mouse Finbar. They’re going to help you stay safe while we travel. Ruby is our main defense, and Mouse here is a zoologist.”  
   
Oberon nodded, attempting a weak smile. Bravestone, seemingly satisfied with the introduction, disappeared once more. A feeling of hopelessness already seemed to overtake the Professor, and he decided that his best option would be to remain quiet and wait for takeoff. Fumbling with his seatbelt, Oberon distantly heard the sound of footsteps approaching at his side, not realizing how close they were until he glanced upward.  
   
Surprisingly, it wasn’t Bravestone.  
   
Coming eye to eye with a sea of brown leather, the Professor craned his head even further and caught sight of neatly coiffed hair and aviator shades. The square angle of the man’s jaw was dusted with fine black hairs, and he quickly pulled the sunglasses from his face and flashed the Professor with a genuine smile, extending a hand in greeting.  
   
Oberon’s entire mouth went dry. Sitting dumbly for a second, he quickly came to his senses and surged forward, gripping the stranger’s warm, calloused hand.  
   
“Hello, Professor. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, especially after everything I’ve heard Dr. Bravestone say about you! My name is Jefferson, but most people around here call me Seaplane. I’ll be your personal pilot for the rest of this journey.”  
   
Still at a loss for words, the Professor blinked rapidly and cleared his throat.  
   
“I—uh, nice to meet you, Seaplane. I’m Professor Sheldon Oberon, but—but I think you, uh, already knew that.”  
   
Cringing internally at his response, the Professor noted with horror that he was still shaking the other man’s hand. Releasing it instantly, he felt himself flush with embarrassment, mortified that he hadn’t noticed his vice-like grip. Chancing a look at Seaplane, he was relieved to note that the other man’s expression was still nothing but amicable.  
   
“Sheldon. I like that. Do people ever call you Shelly for short?” Seaplane questioned, smiling.  
   
For a moment the Professor thought that the younger man might have been mocking him, but before he could even fully process the question, he blurted out an affirmative _yes._  
   
“My family back home in California called me that all the time,” Oberon lied, desperately trying to look anywhere but towards the man in front of him.  
   
“No kidding! You’re from California? What part?”  
   
“Santa Monica.”  
   
Seaplane let out a genuine laugh, leaning back against the seat on the other side of the aisle. “I’m from Jersey myself. Newark. My mom’s from San Francisco. I’ve flown all over California, it’s gorgeous over the valley.”  
   
Before Oberon could offer a response, Bravestone reappeared, somehow dressed in a completely new outfit. The khaki shirt and olive-green pants he wore made the Professor suddenly feel a little too overdressed. Eyeing Bravestone as he and Seaplane exchanged a comradely hug, the Professor couldn’t shake the twinge of disappointment he felt at the abrupt end to their conversation.  
   
After the last bit of their necessities were boarded, the aeroplane’s engine roared to life. Bravestone sitting to his right, Oberon felt his stomach already beginning to turn with regret. Pointedly not looking out the nearby window, he dug his fingernails into the armrests of his seat with gritted teeth. It was going to be a long, long flight.

 

 

Five hours later, the Professor discovered that the worst part of flying wasn’t the inevitable turbulence.  
   
Somehow, Bravestone had managed to fall asleep before they had even reached maximum altitude. Slouching against the metal wall of the plane, he snored with the ferocity of a jackhammer. Oberon had desperately tried to tune out the raucous noise, but had given up hope and decided to read over his notes as a distraction.  
   
Thankful that Bravestone had entrusted the map to him during their previous visit, Oberon extracted it and placed it upon his lap, eager to analyze it for as long as he deemed necessary. The bag that he carried along with him had been stuffed with his texts on Africa, cataloging the various flora and fauna as well as climate and culture, all at his fingertips for immediate use.  
   
When Oberon was reading a particularly interesting passage about Mali’s trans-Saharan empire, their aircraft lurched unsteadily forward. Swaying for a few moments, Oberon held his breath and felt the sweat begin to collect at his brow.  
   
To his right, Bravestone roused from his slumber and looked displeased. Stretching out his tree-trunk arms, he languidly gazed at the Professor’s lapful of miscellaneous books and sheets of paper.  
   
“What’re you doing?” Bravestone questioned after a loud yawn.  
   
“Studying,” Oberon stated simply. “It’s important to be educated about a place before arrival.”   
   
Strongly arching an eyebrow, the archeologist let out a huff of laughter. “I’ve been all over the world, Professor. Nothing gets you acclimated to a culture faster than just being there, meeting people. You can’t learn that from a book.”  
   
It was now Oberon’s turn to scoff. “While there is truth to that statement, there are certain precautions everyone should take to avoid unwanted confrontations.”  
   
Bravestone laughed, hearty and deep. “You truly are a scholar, Professor. I’ve traveled across Africa several times, and I’ve managed to do just fine.”  
   
Throwing a disparaging look at the other man, Oberon pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Alright, then. If you’re so smart, tell me... what is the native language spoken by the Ekiti people?”  
   
“Yoruba.”  
   
The Professor threw himself back into his texts, muttering under his breath while Bravestone fell back asleep, a smirk on his face.

 

 

In total, Oberon had calculated that it took around thirteen hours to make it from London to the tiny island off the coast of Africa.  
   
They had landed on a dirt-packed airstrip that had barely been suitable for landing. The soldiers that had manned the area hadn’t even bothered much with their presence, eyeing them with cold eyes and an air of distrust.  
   
Unsurprisingly, everyone seemed to know what to do except Oberon. Bravestone had begun to empty their aircraft of crates and suitcases. Finbar and Roundhouse, who hadn’t spoken a word to the Professor, were stringing along supplies to a nearby truck. The Professor had stood awkwardly, the setting sun casting a long shadow against the nearby trees.  
   
Deciding to help out for fear of being seen as lazy, he tugged along a heavy box containing food rations and God-knew-what-else. Sweat beginning to collect at his temple, Oberon desperately tried to lift it up onto the truck, damning himself for his lack of strength.  
   
A warm hand settled on his shoulder. Willing himself not to let out a gasp, he turned his gaze and met Seaplane’s warm yet exhausted expression.  
   
“You need help?”  
   
Feeling an intense mixture of embarrassment and self-hatred, he shook his head and attempted to smile. “No, I’m—I’m good.”  
   
Ignoring his protest, Seaplane circled around him and grabbed the other end of the box.  
   
“On three, we both lift. Got it?”  
   
Oberon cursed, snaking his fingers under the harsh edge of the nearby corner. “Alright.”  
   
Seaplane had barely broken a sweat when he hoisted the crate into the air, unfazed as Oberon tried not to drop his end of the load and break all the bones in his foot. After a few awkward seconds of repositioning, they slammed the wooden box heavily into the bed of the truck, both letting out audible sighs of relief.  
   
“Thanks for the help,” Oberon wheezed out as he adjusted his glasses, slightly hunched over in pain.  
   
“Not a problem,” Seaplane replied, smiling as he gave the Professor another friendly pat on the shoulder. Oberon froze as the younger man sauntered off toward Dr. Bravestone, who was currently wrangling with what looked to be a fishnet.  
   
The area where Seaplane had touched him seemed to radiate with warmth. Rubbing against the material of his vest, Oberon willed himself to calm down and decided that whatever tricks his mind was playing on him were definitely a result of his own overactive imagination.  
   
In the corner of his eye, he noticed Roundhouse eyeing him with an unreadable expression. Quickly turning to face her, he readjusted his glasses once more and searched for something to say.  
   
“Uh—do you need any help?”  
   
“No,” Roundhouse responded instantly, continuing to stare. Her arms were crossed in front of her, and she stood unnaturally still as her unblinking eyes continued to analyze him. Oberon felt pinned to the spot, and was about to try and make a break for it when she spoke once more.  
   
“Are you going to dress like that while we’re traveling through the jungle?”  
   
Stunned into silence, the Professor looked down at his outfit, confused. Realizing that his stuffy three-piece suit was definitely not appropriate in the already intense humidity of the island, he let out an embarrassed chuckle.  
   
Rolling her eyes, Roundhouse moved to grab a nearby stack of assorted materials. Sifting through them, she shot Oberon a harsh look from underneath her eyelashes.  
   
“Luckily for you, Bravestone packed extra gear. Take advantage of his kindness.”  
   
The professor nearly missed the projectile piece of clothing as Roundhouse sent it flying towards him at superhuman speed. Attempting not to drop it, he cast Roundhouse a curious look as she too abandoned him to join Bravestone and the others.


	2. The Belly of the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here’s chapter two of my self-indulgent, self-serving fanfic. Slight warning: there is some depictions of violence/harm, so the rating of this fic will be bumped up to mature. Next update should be in about a week or so! Once again, any and all comments are appreciated! Enjoy!

What had seemed like a long day was turning out to be an even longer night.  
   
Their lodging for the time consisted of a grouping of ramshackle barracks that the pioneers of years past had long since abandoned. Just a short drive from the dirt-packed airstrip, the huts were an amalgamation of both outside influence and native craftsmanship. Oberon hadn’t even had much of a mind to think about the history, and had instead found himself falling over his feet as Bravestone and the others started up a fire and picked their makeshift homes for the night.  
   
The smallest hut at the very end of the semicircle had graciously been empty when Oberon had pushed through the broken door. Sparse of furniture and other accommodations, he set down his newly gifted cloth bed and barely managed to disrobe before exhaustion had gotten the better of him.  
   
Morning arrived much sooner than Oberon would have liked. The various chirpings of wild birds had awoken him at the break of dawn, sunlight drifting through the various cracks in the mudbrick walls. Instantly aching in discomfort, he felt an intense pang of want for his moderately comfortable bed back home.  
   
Peeking his head outside the hut’s entrance, Oberon surveyed the group as they were gathered around the smoldering firepit. Roundhouse and Finbar were working on what looked like breakfast while Bravestone hunched over between them, reigniting the dying flames with a piece of flint. Disappointingly, Seaplane was nowhere to be seen.  
   
Dressing himself in the newly acquired trousers Roundhouse had gifted him, Oberon felt instant relief at the lightweight material. Along with his button-up vest from the day before and a pair of lace-up boots, he felt surprisingly suited to the idea of adventuring, no longer dreading the humidity that would have surely broiled him had he continued to adorn his three-piece suit.  
   
When Oberon joined the group as they hung around the now-burning fire, Bravestone greeted him with a jarring slap to the back, sending the shorter man forward a few inches.  
   
“Good to see you, Professor. I trust you had a good night’s rest?”  
   
“You could say that,” Oberon replied, trying not to wince as Bravestone gave him another hearty slap.  
   
“Well, that’s good to hear. Our journey starts soon, and it will do us well to be rested and ready for anything.”  
   
Glancing around their makeshift camp, Oberon noted that Seaplane was still missing. Feeling himself flush with embarrassment at how much that idea bugged him, he slowly scratched at his beard, contemplating asking Bravestone where the other man had went. Deciding there was no harm in it, he cleared his throat and searched for the right words, feigning disinterest.  
   
“So... where’s Seaplane? I haven’t seen him this morning.”  
   
Bravestone jerked his head toward a small patch of trees to their left. “He’s on guard duty. If you’d like, you can go fetch him for me and tell the kid that it’s time for breakfast.”

Oberon’s stomach dropped. “Right now?”

“Well, unless you both like cold rice, yes. Right now.”

Looking back at the patch of trees, the Professor spluttered. With a gentle push by Bravestone in the right direction, Oberon squared his shoulders and marched steadily forward, arms glued to his sides.

Just on the other side of the treeline was Seaplane, lounging alongside a bare stump. Draped above him on a low-hanging branch was a thin tarp, shading him from the already intense sunlight. The telltale sound of twig underfoot seemed to rouse the young pilot as he craned his head around and fixed Oberon with a friendly smile.

“Good morning, Professor. Time to eat?”

“Y-yeah. Dr. Bravestone and the others are busy cooking it up right now.”

Rising to his feet and proceeding to stretch, Seaplane let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, I’m starving. How about you?”

At his words, Oberon registered that his own stomach was growling too loudly for comfort. Meeting Seaplane’s eyes with an abashed look, he chuckled nervously. “I suppose I’m pretty starved too.”

Just beyond the other man’s shoulder, the Professor caught sight of a mound of white candles that had previously been obscured from view. Deciding against interrogating Seaplane for intimate details, the Professor politely waited for the other man to join him, running nimble fingers over his wrinkled clothes.

“Were you out here all night?” Oberon questioned as Seaplane moved beside him, rubbing at his eyes with a slight yawn.

“No, Ruby had the late night shift. I took over a couple hours ago, so I did manage to sneak in a few hours of sleep.”

Oberon blushed, angry at himself for not even considering to volunteer his help. “I apologize, Seaplane. Had I known we were doing guard shifts I would have happily taken your place.”

Smile broadening to reveal a row of perfectly aligned teeth, Seaplane chuckled. “It’s alright, Professor. You’re not used to Bravestone’s rough adventuring schedule. In a few days, you’ll wish you hadn’t offered.”

Pushing past the barrier of trees that separated them from their makeshift camp, Oberon couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief at the smell of cooking food. Seaplane and him took a seat alongside the firepit, both spouting words of thanks as the others distributed out tin plates. Bravestone, seemingly foregoing his own meal, stood at attention in front of the group and extracted a thin sheet of parchment paper.

“So, while we all settle in for a moment, let’s discuss our plan of action for the next few days. This area right here will be our base camp. Until Billingsley gets here, nobody leaves the area. Based on the information I have, he should be arriving sometime before noon.”

Carefully refolding the letter and slipping it into his breast pocket, Bravestone focused his attention toward Seaplane.

“Were there any disturbances last night?”

“None that I heard, Doc. It was quiet.”

“Good,” Bravestone whispered with a nod. “Sooner or later, Van Pelt is going to find out that we’re here. Until then, we have the upper hand.”

Oberon’s stomach churned uncomfortably at that thought. Forcing himself to swallow a bland forkful of rice, he turned his attention toward the treeline, eyes narrowing behind his spectacles.

“And what happens when Van Pelt does find out that we’re here?” The Professor questioned, still staring intently at the jungle before him.

“We stick together, and move as quickly as possible. I wouldn’t worry too much, Professor. We’ll keep ourselves aware and stay hidden.”

Appetite diminishing, Oberon forced himself to choke down a few more bites of food before their group began to gather up what little things they would be taking with them. Lamenting over the fact that he had not brought a larger satchel with him, Oberon was forced to leave some of his books at the mercy of their soon-to-be-abandoned camp. The intense humidity of the jungle was already beginning to settle in, and the Professor found himself missing the dreary London rain more than ever.

 

 

It was precisely a quarter past noon (according to Oberon’s pocketwatch, which may have been inaccurate due to time differences) when the telltale sound of a automobile echoed in the distance. The whirring of its engine began to grow steadily louder, and Bravestone immediately stood at attention and motioned for Finbar to join him at the treeline. The Professor, uninterested in getting any closer than necessary, had taken refuge alongside the line of huts.

Bravestone and Finbar whispered among themselves, Oberon too distant to hear their shared words. Seaplane and Roundhouse, no longer busying themselves with packing, watched from a bit further ahead. Oberon noted with sudden horror that the latter had a sheathed daggar hanging from her belt, fingers encircling the hilt with unflinching resolve.

The Professor nearly missed Bravestone and Finbar disappear into the jungle while he continued to gape at Roundhouse, eyes flicking back just in time to catch Bravestone’s hulking figure slide behind the trees. Holding his breath, Oberon slowly crept forward until he was a few feet behind Seaplane and Roundhouse, both staring at the treeline with scrupulous looks.

“Do you think it’s our man?” the Professor questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

“Most likely, though we can’t afford to lose caution,” Roundhouse replied, eyebrows knitted together and expression dark.

Seaplane looked over his shoulder and met the Professor’s eyes, a forced smile adorning his lips. Feeling a flush of heat crawl across his face, Oberon quickly gave him a nervous smile in turn and refocused his attention on the warped trees ahead.

Not a moment later, three men emerged from the brush. The stranger that followed Bravestone and Finbar fixed the other three companions with a blinding grin, face bright with what the Professor could only determine was excitement. He looked similar in age, wrapped in a yellow scarf and a worn out vest. Wasting no time, he quickly marched up to the group and extended a hand in greeting.

“Ah, so these are the other three pieces to the puzzle! Nigel Billingsley, at your service. Ruby Roundhouse, Killer of Men! What a delight it is to finally meet you. And Seaplane McDonough! It’s a privilege as well.”

The man’s thick accent was somewhat familiar to the Professor, a lilting tune that was either Australian or Kiwi. Oberon felt pinned when the man finally locked eyes with him. Extending his hand in reluctance, the Professor found that Billingsley seemed to have restrained himself, merely giving him a subdued shake.

“Professor Sheldon Oberon. It’s an honor to finally meet Britain’s leading man on cartography. I’ve read all your papers on nineteenth century mapmaking! I’m pleased to see that Dr. Bravestone convinced you to help us on our quest.”

“T-thank you,” Oberon spluttered, red-faced at the compliment. Billingsley gave the three a final appreciative nod, turning back to face Bravestone who was eyeing them with a grin.

“So, where do we begin?” the explorer questioned, adjusting the hat perched on his head. Bravestone and Finbar shared a look, and the archeologist arched an eyebrow as he met Billingsley’s gaze.

“I’ve read your letter, and explained to the others what our... situation is. Do you have it with you?”

With a nod, Billingsley’s expression turned grim. “Yes, I do.”

From seemingly out of thin air, the explorer extracted a mysterious lump that was wrapped in a burlap cover. Oberon’s eyes grew wide as he realized what it was, the magnificence of the jewel shrouded behind the jute fiber. Finbar graciously accepted the package and slipped it into his large rucksack, void of expression. Billingsley turned to face the rest of them, expression now more serious than lighthearted.

“The Jaguar’s Eye is one the most precious artifacts I’ve come across. I trust that you all will do your utmost to protect it and return it to it’s rightful place at the Jaguar Shrine. Later along in your journey I will be able to help you, but until then, I’m afraid we must part ways.” Swiveling on his heel, Billingsley fixed Bravestone with an unreadable expression.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with you in private for a moment, Dr. Bravestone.”

The other man nodded, and without another word the pair removed themselves from the group and wandered a good distance away, heads leaned in close together.

Oberon felt awkward staring and abruptly turned to face the others, pushing his frames further up the bridge of his nose. Seaplane sauntered over to his side, and the Professor couldn’t fight a blush as he bumped their shoulders together in a genial manner.

“He seems... interesting,” Oberon started, sneaking furtive glances in Bravestone and Billingsley’s direction. Seaplane gave a hum of affirmation in turn.

“Bravestone and Van Pelt were good friends many years ago. I’m sure that this Billingsley fella has a lot of new information about him, since they haven’t spoken to each other in years.”

The Professor nodded, feeling the knot in his stomach return. “I can’t imagine what it would be like, to lose someone like that.”

Looking at the younger man from his peripheral, Oberon’s heart jumped as he caught Seaplane’s gentle gaze. His broad arms were crossed in front of his chest, and he gave the Professor a reassuring look as he moved incrementally closer.

“If it’s any comfort, I already consider you a friend, and everyone here has your back.”

The blush that once again took hold of the Professor’s face began to spread down his neck and back, splotchy patches of heat causing him to lose track of his thoughts. Pushing at his glasses and attempting to collect his bearings, a genuine smile broke out across the Professor’s face.

“Thank you, Seaplane. I—I return the sentiment.” he replied, glancing at the other man’s dark eyes behind the rims of his glasses.

“Just telling the honest truth, Shelly.”

With a final clap of his palm against the Professor’s shoulder, the pilot strolled back to the line of barracks, dark jacket reflecting the sun from above.

 

 

Billingsley had left almost as soon as he had arrived, tipping his slouch hat as a final gesture of good will before the sputtering sound of his jeep faded into the distance. Bravestone had wasted no time in gathering up their group and making final decisions on what they would be bringing. Oberon had decided that now was as good a time as ever to familiarize himself with the map once more.

Bravestone lead the way from the abandoned huts into the wide expanse of the island’s jungle, gloved hands pushing past the low-hanging vines that descended on them from above. Oberon held the map in a steady grip, dragging his eyes across it as he pinpointed their location.

“We started here,” he murmured aloud as he dragged his finger along the bottom of the page. “This area to the southeast, right above the inlet, was where we landed.”

From behind him, Seaplane peered over his shoulder, scanning the map.

“You’re right, I saw the cove right before we landed. Did you see it from the window or did you just take a wild guess?”

The Professor smirked, a feeling of pride beginning to grow in his chest. “I know where we are based on the ridgeline up ahead. It matches the marked mountain peak here. That, and the river to the northeast of us runs west, just like the one shown below.”

Seaplane merely stared at him in awe, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. “You really do know your way with maps,” he replied as he tore at the dense foliage around them.

Face heated once more over the other man’s compliments, Oberon quickly pushed ahead and met up with Bravestone, who was surveying the nearby valley from the edge of a short cliff. He seemed distracted, that now-familiar look of intense concentration causing his brows to crease in the shape of a _V_. Carefully avoiding the snaking roots underfoot, Oberon stood beside the archaeologist and surveyed their map.

“It wouldn’t be smart to continue traveling north,” Bravestone said with a sigh as he continued to stare at the enormous peak before them. “We don’t have the equipment or the resources to make it over the mountains.”

“This river here—I think it would be wise to follow it westward,” Oberon replied, pushing his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. “It will lead us to the next closest ridge, which shouldn’t be nearly as impossible to travel over.”

Bravestone continued to survey the jungle in front of him, mulling over his thoughts.

“I agree. There’s a local Bazaar to the northwest of the island. That’s our easiest route to the Jaguar Shrine. Unfortunately, it’s also where the majority of Van Pelt’s men will be.”

Finally turning his attention to the Professor, Bravestone fixed him with a hardened grimace.

“It may be quicker, but also more dangerous. We’ll have to be extremely careful. Are you up for it?”

A slight sheen of sweet began to adorn the back of Oberon’s neck, and he pointedly looked away from the other man’s scrutinizing gaze. Glancing back down at the map in hand, he knew that Bravestone’s words rang true. If they were going to get to the Jaguar’s Shrine as quickly as possible, they would have to take more risks.

“I am. This river should be just a few kilometers north.”

With a gentle pat to the shoulder, Bravestone disappeared behind him and whistled for their group to reassemble. Oberon suddenly felt sick to his stomach, frozen to the ground as he pictured men with large knives and tommy guns. The vagueness that Bravestone used when talking about Van Pelt and his men had certainly had the Professor conjuring up terrifying scenarios. Forcing himself to push his cowardice aside, he too turned around to rejoin the others.

Bravestone had already started cutting a path through the dense foliage, Seaplane following right behind. Finbar was holding the compass that Bravestone had bestowed upon him that morning, and Roundhouse seemed fixated on ignoring all of them in favor of marching alongside the treeline, eyes transfixed to the jungle’s depths.

It had taken a good three hours to get through the worst of the vines and bushes before the calming sound of water from the nearby river greeted them. Oberon had graciously been able to pinpoint their location along the bend of the river as it slithered in a grueling pace westward, the sun already beginning to set behind it.

They walked alongside the crawling river, stopping for a break after the sky grew dark. The Professor had bent himself over the stream to wet his face and cheeks when Finbar had popped out of nowhere and informed him to beware of crocodiles below the surface. Oberon had nearly injured himself in the haste of trying to get away from the waters edge.

Bravestone had informed him upon his return that they would be camping there for the night, not keen on pushing themselves further when the sky grew dark and they didn’t know their exact surroundings. Oberon had been relieved that he’d packed his moleskin journal to hastily write down his own coordinates just in case.

As he continued to scrawl across the first page with a spare fountain pen, Seaplane had decided to take a seat next to him against the large boulder that shielded them from the riverside.

“Anything interesting that you’re writing, Shelly?” He questioned as he bit into a slice of papaya, leaning over into the other man’s space.

Oberon startled, shifting slightly away out of natural fear for his personal space. He graced the younger man a bashful smile, eyeing Seaplane over the rim of his glasses.

“Not really, no. I’m just setting up some reference points in case we accidentally get lost—though it’s unlikely to happen.”

Seaplane grinned, wiping his mouth free of the spare droplets of papaya juice that dribbled across his lips and chin. Oberon forced himself not to follow the motion with his eyes.

“You know, the great thing about being a pilot is knowing how to read longitude and latitude and all that jazz. I mean, the plane does most of the work, but still.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. I certainly couldn’t read a map and fly an aeroplane at the same time. I’d probably faint from the stress.”

At that, Seaplane laughed. “Believe me, it’s not so scary when you get used to it. I’ve been flying planes since I was fourteen. It’s almost as easy as walking for me now.”

Closing his journal and setting it to the side, Oberon focused his attention on the younger man, curious.

“What started your passion for flying, if I may ask?”

“You may,” Seaplane replied, smile growing wider. “My dad was an ace pilot during the War. He was one of the first men to ever fly on reconnaissance against the Germans. I was just a kid when he left, and he—he never came back.”

An intense feeling of guilt crashed over the Professor like a turbulent tidal wave. Momentarily at a loss for words, he searched for an appropriate response, remorseful of his incessant curiosity.

“I’m sorry, Seaplane. I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories.”

Thankfully, the younger man merely wore a pitying smile, anger nonexistent on his face.

“It’s alright. I was pretty young. It’s been long enough now that it doesn’t hurt as much to think about it. I mean, if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have met Dr. Bravestone and been able to do what I love.”

“How long have you been working with Bravestone?” Oberon questioned, happy to change the subject.

“Geez, it’s already been almost seven years. I was a delivery pilot that was working with some rather heinous individuals.” Face now brightening at the revival of the memory, Seaplane chuckled and gazed off into the distance. “I was a real dumb kid, always getting into trouble.”

“I can’t imagine that,” the Professor replied, grinning in tandem. “You seem very mature for your age.”

“That’s only because Bravestone knocked some sense into me while I was still young enough to change. We met in Hong Kong. It turns out that the men I was working for were trying to smuggle illegal artifacts into the Chinese black market. Bravestone went easy on me, and we’ve been working together ever since.”

Oberon didn’t respond, too focused on the warm expression that settled on Seaplane’s face as he reminisced. Before he could figure out a way to respond, the younger man stood to his feet and reached into the bag that hung from his shoulders, extracting something that the Professor couldn’t quite see.

The sudden drop of a helmet over his head caused the older man to freeze, confusion muddling his already tumultuous thoughts. Quickly taking it in hand, Oberon was surprised to see that it was an antique pith helmet, hard and sturdy and just the right size. Gazing up at Seaplane in shock, he could only stare as the other man gave him another brilliant smile.

“Dr. Bravestone insisted that you wear it. He and I both think it would complete your look.”

 

 

In the matter of a few short days, Oberon began to fall into some semblance of a schedule. Their group would set up camp an hour or so before the sun had fully set, and would be up and ready before dawn broke over the horizon. Walking for hours at a time would usually be separated by short breaks for food and rest. Bravestone and Finbar had already shown exemplary skills in cooking (Finbar especially, the man seemed to hoard spices in that rucksack of his), and Oberon was actually—despite all odds—enjoying himself.

More importantly, he was enjoying his time getting to know Seaplane more.

Oberon had discovered that the other man was twenty-eight years of age. Upon that discovery, he mentally scolded himself for the incessant (and inappropriate) feelings that Seaplane seemed to extract from him. The constant reminder that he had already reached adolescence when Seaplane was a toddler made him feel ancient.

And yet, despite his strange feelings for the younger man, Seaplane and the Professor had managed to become friends in the few short days that they had known each other. The pilot was constantly asking Oberon questions about maps and history, and the Professor never missed out on the opportunity to give him a fully-formed answer. It was nice, the rapport that he found himself in.

The nickname of _Shelly_ was growing on him, too.

It was their fourth day of travel, and dusk was settling in above the trees. Bravestone had whistled twice in quick succession, and their group fell into a tightly-knit troop as they removed their rucksacks and duffels. The river still let out a faint rush of sound in the distance, only a kilometer or so away. Besides the normal sounds of jungle wildlife, their journey so far had been relatively quiet.

As far as Oberon knew, Van Pelt and his men were still nowhere to be seen. He rather liked it that way. 

Bravestone was rolling out his own makeshift bed when the Professor had a sudden idea come to mind. Slowly making his way across the open patch they had made for themselves, the Professor tapped him on the shoulder, readying himself.

“What is it, Professor?” Bravestone asked with a yawn.

“I’d like to help out on guard duty tonight—if that’s okay,” he requested, nervous excitement bubbling in his chest. Oberon was eager to show the archeologist that he could prove himself useful in more ways than just map reading.

“Are you sure?” the taller man questioned, turning to fully face the Professor. His right eyebrow raised itself seemingly on its own volition. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Mouse and Seaplane are used to doing guard duty.”

“I want to help,” Oberon replied, not budging.

With a roll of his eyes, Bravestone muttered out an _okay_ and sent Oberon to go speak with the others. When the Professor met up with Finbar, the diminutive man was sorting out the various pieces of weaponry he carried alongside him on a fallen tree trunk. The Professor cleared his throat awkwardly, and Finbar glanced up at him with an indecipherable expression.

“Uh—if you don’t mind, I’d be willing to cover your guard shift tonight.”

Finbar narrowed his eyes, pulling himself forward to set his elbows on the jut of his knees.

“Why would you want to do that?” he questioned, voice tinted slightly with an accent. The Professor was momentarily lost in surprise, realizing he hadn’t even heard the other man speak until now.

“Well, seeing as I am part of the group, I want to do my fair share and... help out?”

Finbar continued to eye him with a hardened gaze. After a few moments of contemplation he nodded in agreement, a slight grin overtaking his lips. Seeing the other man’s approval thrilled Oberon, and he quickly moved closer to Finbar as the shorter man moved to his feet. The zoologist took a large machete in hand and passed it over to the Professor, chuckling as the older man’s mouth went slack.

 

 

After Finbar had supplied the Professor with a weapon and explained how to keep a watchful eye, he returned to his place at their makeshift camp and left Oberon to the mercy of the jungle, teeming with wild animals—and, Bravestone warned, dangerous men that would kill him on sight.

In reality, the Professor was relatively safe, only ten or so meters away from the camp. Bravestone’s snoring was still a persistent nuisance in his ear, and Oberon had decided to slot himself against the wide berth of an utile tree. The winding roots at his feet created a level surface for the Professor to sit upon. When he had finally found himself in a comfortable position, he gazed out into the depths of the murky jungle.

A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and Oberon pulled his long-sleeved button-up closer to his body. The pith helmet that Bravestone had gifted him was sitting at the Professor’s side. His hair, usually combed neatly, was losing the battle against the rising wind. Flicking random strands away from his face, the Professor began to focus on the tinny sounds of crickets at their chirping carried on the evening wind.

The first few hours into the night shift proved to be immensely uneventful. Oberon had fallen lax against the sturdy wood of the tree at his back. The various titterings of wildlife that emanated from the jungle were comforting, and he soon found himself fighting to keep his eyes open as exhaustion began to weigh down his eyelids.

Drooping to the side, Oberon quickly righted himself and viciously rubbed at his face, scraping blunt fingernails against his cheeks and beard. _He had to stay awake._ With a quick glance at his pocketwatch, the Professor noted that it was nearing close to midnight. Seaplane would take over guard duty in an hour.

The dying wisps of the evening breeze soon slowed to a stop, leaving the humid jungle air still. Suddenly uncomfortable, the hairs on the back of Oberon’s neck stood on end, and a feeling of dread began to overtake him as the whole of the jungle before him grew quiet.

Hanging high above the trees, the moon cast silvery rays of light that pierced themselves between the leaves. Although it had been a comforting sight to him in the past, Oberon suddenly grew anxious, the smatterings of light covering the jungle floor in strange shapes.

A sudden rustling of twig and branch caused the Professor to sharply draw in a breath. Eyes glued to the foreboding shadows of the treeline ahead, he quickly snatched the machete that had been forgotten at his feet into his shaking hands. Quickly forcing himself to stand, Oberon held the machete out before him and wildly surveyed the area, heart slamming against his ribcage.

Something slithered against his back.

Letting out a gasp of terror, the Professor whipped around and was met with the sight of a thick vine, hanging down from the branches above. Feeling foolish at his sudden panic, Oberon choked out a sound of relief and moved his hand to push the vine away from his face.

Before he even had the chance to grasp it, the vine moved on it’s own volition, and Oberon’s eyes grew wide as the sentient plant moved into a splash of moonlight from above.

It was a snake.

The Professor’s shout was cut off abruptly as the reptile moved at exceptional speed, fangs flashing silver at it dove right towards him. Shielding his face, the machete did little to protect Oberon as the enormous snake knocked him to the jungle floor, twisting and hissing above him. The fangs it sported were the size of daggers, and the Professor threw his machete against its triangular head, attempting to dodge the incisors that aimed for his fleshy skin.

Oberon let out a cry of pain as he felt the pointed fangs scrape across his forearm, tearing into the thin cloth of his shirt. To his horror, the massive snake began to wrap its lower half around one of the Professor’s legs like a tightly wound coil. Kicking out in desperation, Oberon felt the air leave his lungs at it drew back to attack once more.

Three rounds of gunfire rang through the air in quick succession. Oberon nearly fainted as the thick trunk of the snake’s body toppled over him. Chest rising in falling as he hyperventilated, the Professor didn’t move a muscle otherwise, frozen in case the reptile wasn’t as dead as it appeared.

Two hands managed to slot themselves under his arms, pulling him out from underneath the carcass of the snake. Glancing up at the stranger, Oberon was relieved to see what looked like the familiar face of Dr. Bravestone, noting that his glasses were no longer attached to his face.

“Are you okay?” Bravestone questioned when Oberon was a safe distance away.

The Professor blinked slowly, lungs still on fire as he fought to take air in.

“I’m—I’m okay,” he managed to cough out, heartbeat as frantic as it had been moments earlier. “I think I can stand.”

Just as Bravestone helped the Professor to his feet, the other members of their group made themselves known as they approached the pair, flashlights in hand. Oberon, still somewhat blinded by lack of spectacles, made out the forms of Seaplane, Roundhouse, and Finbar as they drew closer. Roundhouse looked to be holding a pistol in hand.

“Jesus Christ, Oberon. What happened?” Roundhouse growled out, inspecting the Professor from a few feet away. Seaplane quickly moved past her, stalking to Oberon’s side.

“It came out of nowhere. I don’t know, I was standing guard and it—it came from the trees.”

Bravestone had joined Finbar over the snakes coiled corpse, both silent as they surveyed the lifeless being. Oberon nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand brushed against him, and he quickly turned, relieved to see that it was none other than Seaplane. There was only a few inches of space between the two, and the Professor felt his stomach drop as he took in the younger man’s horrified expression.

“You’re hurt,” Seaplane exclaimed, drawing closer as he pulled the Professor’s arm into his grip. The tan material of his shirt was darkened by a small patch of blood. Oberon sucked in a breath as he remembered the brief connection of fang against skin. Drawing the torn sleeve back, he eyed the parallel lines of the wound with wide eyes.

“Thankfully for you, it’s not poisonous.”

Seaplane and Oberon both turned their attention to Finbar, who was standing over the animal with a hardened expression. Equal amounts of sadness and anger lined his face as he crouched down, running a hand over the dry skin of the reptile.

“It’s not?”

“No. This is a _python sebae_ , more commonly known as an African rock python.” Finbar continued to hover his fingers over the length of its body, slowing when he reached a gaping hole that punctured the scaly flesh. “It’s a constricting species. It’s fangs may hurt, but they aren’t poisonous.”

”Do they usually attack people?” Roundhouse questioned, voice gravelly.

Finbar shook his head. “Not usually, and never like this.”

Bravestone stiffened at his side. Oberon turned to face him, suddenly curious of the other man’s reaction. Before he could question what was wrong, Finbar dropped to his knees in front of the snake’s corpse, head bowed in reverence.

Silence fell over the group as the zoologist mourned, eyebrows drawn tightly together. The Professor took a step forward, slowly extracting his arm from Seaplane’s hold. Reflecting the moonlight from the jungle floor, Oberon sank to his knees and retrieved his spectacles, fitting them over his face as he watched Finbar’s twisted expression.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly, guilt beginning to settle in his gut.

“Don’t be,” Finbar replied, expression hardening. With a heavy sigh, he stood on his feet and helped the Professor up, eyeing Oberon’s bloody wound.

“Let’s get back to camp,” Bravestone interjected, the sloping lines of his face making him look like solid stone in the moonlight. “Mouse, you stay here. Come on, Professor. Let’s get you fixed up.”

As Seaplane and Bravestone slowly ushered the older man back to the campsite, the Professor couldn’t help but glance back at Finbar, ashamed as he took in the zoologist’s grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t mean to end this chapter on a depressing note. Next chapter will be mostly fun and lighthearted, I promise!


	3. Big Iron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I just wanted to give a big thanks to all the people who read/reviewed my fic so far. Every comment means so much to me, and you’re all the reason why I have the desire to keep writing! Let me also apologize for the delay uploading this chapter. Life happens. I got in a car accident. Quick warning for squeamish readers: character death and injury is mentioned in minor detail. Rating will be bumped up to Explicit for the remainder of the story. Enjoy!

After they arrived back at the camp, Seaplane had taken it upon himself to drag the Professor over to the nearest tree stump and tend to his wounds. Roundhouse had grabbed their supply bag filled with various ointments and gauze. Bravestone, concerned for the wellbeing of his friend, had went back to join Finbar and ensure that the other man was alright.

A canteen of water was poured over the Professor’s forearm, and he sharply inhaled at the slight sting of it running over his sliced skin.

“How badly does it hurt?” Seaplane questioned, extracting a spare handkerchief from the medicine bag. Roundhouse was igniting the decaying fire behind them.

“Not too bad,” Oberon lied. He had never been good at dealing with blood, or seeing the extent of open wounds. Grinding his teeth together, he allowed Seaplane to wipe the area clean of fresh blood that rose to the surface.

“Alright,” the younger man whispered, pouring a bit of alcohol over the handkerchief. “This might sting. Tell me if it’s too much.”

The Professor nodded, closing his eyes as he waited for the inevitable pain that would follow. As the piece of cloth dabbed against the open wound, it stung more ferociously than Oberon had expected, and he let out a hiss as the pain blossomed anew with every stroke.

“Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” Seaplane questioned, voice filled with concern. The other hand that he had not been using to administer the alcohol was grasping the Professor’s arm, thumb running in soothing circles across his skin.

“N-no. I’m fine. You can keep going.”

After a few more painful moments, the pilot unwrapped a roll of gauze, winding the thin strip over the now-clean wound. Oberon flushed with heat as his mind finally caught up with him, Seaplane’s gentle fingers warm against his skin. When the gauze was wound tightly around the Professor’s arm, Seaplane moved back to inspect his handiwork, looking satisfied.

“Tell me if it begins hurting again or you need a bandage change, okay?”

“Alright,” Oberon breathed out. Before Seaplane could take his leave, he quickly reached out his hand and grabbed him, feeling a burst of anxiety take hold of him as the younger man turned to face him.

“Thank you, Seaplane. For everything.”

The pilot looked surprised for a moment, mouth drawn slightly open before he grinned in response. Holding the Professor’s hand in his grip, Seaplane gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered, eyeing Oberon through dark lashes before disappearing into the jungle once more.

 

 

It only took the Professor a day or two to get over the initial trauma of the snake incident. He had been most thankful of the fact that the wound hadn’t been nearly as lethal as it could have been, and (over the course of the week) had been healing up rather nicely. Seaplane had been gracious enough to offer his help for replacing the dirtied bandages. Oberon declined, knowing full well that what had happened last time almost caused an indecent exposure of his feelings.

However, Oberon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being...  _misled_ in some way. As if everyone was aware of some unbidden secret that the Professor had been purposefully left out of. He had mentioned this offhandedly to Seaplane, but the pilot had merely scurried away in an attempt to avoid the question, confirming Oberon’s suspicions even further.

A few days later, after a particularly long stretch of travel, the Professor had decided to relax his mind by reading one of the few textbooks he’d managed to stow along with him. Oberon had always been fascinated by the flora and fauna of Africa’s landscape, and had just happened upon a passage about the native reptiles that teemed in the jungle’s land.

 _Python sebae_. That was the name of the snake that had attacked Oberon. Adjusting his glasses, the Professor quickly tucked into the excerpt, rubbing a finger across his lips as he became more and more confused. As if on queue, Finbar appeared at his side with a canteen of water.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Oberon griped, rereading the printed words once more.

“What doesn’t make any sense?”

Shutting the book in frustration, Oberon took off his spectacles and rubbed the lenses against his cotton shirt. “The attack. You said it yourself, the African rock snake is a constricting type, yes?”

Finbar froze, fingers wrapped around the lid of his canteen.

“They are, yes. But not all creatures abide by their predetermined natures. They can adapt if they need to survive.”

Oberon scrubbed harder at the dirty lenses, eyes focused on the man above him. “But it didn’t just take a cautionary bite, Finbar. It—it was like it’s sole purpose was to kill me in cold blood, human-like and calculated.”

Looking increasingly more uncomfortable, Finbar’s eyes flickered over to where Bravestone and the others were gathered in the distance. After a few moments of silent contemplation, he eyed Oberon with a hardened gaze.

“I would not worry too much about the matters of the past, Professor. Be thankful that your life was spared in exchange for the creature’s own.”

The Professor didn’t reply, feeling abashed as the zoologist turned around and left Oberon to his textbooks.

 

 

When the Professor woke up on one particularly humid morning, Bravestone had informed them that they were officially on their tenth day of travel. Oberon had found that hard to believe, seeing as it felt as if they had been traversing the island jungle for several weeks. Packing up their makeshift beds and other necessities, the group set off once more, nearing the ridge that would lead them to the bazaar.

The sluggish river that had been a source of comfort in their travels now emptied out into a basin at the bottom of the valley. Hills that dotted the placid landscape stretched up into the sides of the enormous mountains that lay dormant to their north. What was perhaps the biggest change for their group was the lack of trees—the area was covered in stout bushes and not much else. Overhead, birds soared through the air, silent observers to the group. 

“It will be hard to travel undetected here,” Bravestone muttered, gloved hands on his hips as he surveyed the land from the end of the treeline. “We’ll have to move quickly, seeing as it’s virtually unprotected for the most part.”

“And what will we do if we’re spotted by Van Pelt’s men?” Oberon questioned, stomach churning with nerves. To his side, Roundhouse extracted her pistol from the holster at her side.

“Bravestone and I will take care of them. The most important thing is that the Jewel is kept safe. Seaplane and Finbar will be in charge of protecting it from anyone that comes across our path.”

Oberon nodded, feeling his gut begin to tighten as they prepared to depart. When the leaves overhead began to dwindle, the Professor couldn’t help but feel like an ant trapped under the scorching sun. Map in hand, he quickly ran a finger across their path of travel, desperately searching for some kind of shortcut to no avail.

When they had long since left the protective cover of the jungle trees, Oberon finally began to feel his heart slow down to a steadier rhythm. Bravestone and Roundhouse had trudged along on either side of the group, weapons drawn in case they were spotted against the endless sea of green grass around them. Finbar had taken it upon himself to situate his bag against his chest, fingers digging deep into the green material. Sweat pooled between the digits of his fingertips as the Professor lead the way, helmet shading him from the intensity of the sun above. It had been a good while since their departure from the jungle, and Van Pelt’s men were still nowhere to be seen.

Bravestone’s steps began to slow as they approached the crest of the hill, their vision obscured from the other side of the prominence. Raising a single finger to stop them, he and Roundhouse quickly moved ahead and searched for any signs of immediate danger. After a few moments, Bravestone motioned for Oberon and the rest to join them, a discontented look apparent on his face. The ridge that would lead them to the bazaar was only a few kilometers away.

“I don’t like this,” Roundhouse hissed under her breath, falling into step beside the Professor. “It doesn’t make any sense. We should have heard something from Van Pelt by now.”

“Maybe he hasn’t even discovered that we’re here yet,” Oberon offered, voice barely above a whisper. At that, Bravestone turned his head, eyebrows knitted together.

“No. Van Pelt has always been a fantastic tracker and navigator. Ruby’s right. Something else is going on.”

“So you _want_ us to be seen by Van Pelt’s men?” Oberon questioned, perplexed.

Bravestone came to an abrupt stop, blocking the group from moving forward and causing the Professor to collide into his solid back. Adjusting his spectacles, he watched as the archeologist spun around to observe the area, calling for Finbar to hand him his binoculars.

“Professor, where did you decide our path of travel was going to be through this area?”

Oberon jumped, quickly unfolding the map and giving it a quick glance-over.

“Well—across the hills here, we would need to continue taking the quicket route to get to the top of the ridge. So... between these two peaks here. That would still be our best bet.”

Bravestone didn’t reply, surveying the ridgeline with the binoculars in hand. With a sharp exhale and a grim expression, he removed the binoculars and turned to face the group.

“Scratch that plan. We’re going to take the long way.” Handing his gear over to Finbar, Bravestone gestured to a long line of trees that spanned out in the opposite direction. “We should be able to go around the ridge instead of through it.”

“What?” Oberon questioned, gripping the map between curled fingers. “It would take us several days just to go around it!”

“I have a feeling that something bad is waiting for us on that ridge, Professor. If you want us to take our chances, I’m afraid that you’re alone in that decision.”

“Not entirely. He has a point, Doc,” Seaplane spoke up, moving to Oberon’s side. “We’re already running out of time as it is.”

Bravestone’s eyes narrowed, and he let out a huff of agitation as he considered the other man’s words. Running a gloved hand over his smooth head, he turned to face Oberon, lips drawn in a tight line.

“I’m asking you to trust me on this. The last thing I want to do is risk your lives any more than they’re already at risk for. I know how Van Pelt’s mind works. We could be falling right into one of his traps.”

The Professor avoided Bravestone’s gaze, eyes glued onto the peak that would lead them directly to the bazaar. Fearful of what could be lurking there if Bravestone’s intuition was correct, he gnawed at his bottom lip and met the archeologist’s eyes.

“You’re the famous explorer here. I trust you.”

Bravestone gave the Professor a courteous nod in turn, satisfied in his answer. With a wave of the hand, the group followed him toward the wide expanse of the nearby jungle, solemn expressions mirrored on every face.

 

 

In retrospect, their detour from the beaten path had seemed to be an advantageous and logical decision. In execution, however, it had been vastly different.

Their group hadn’t even managed to go further than a kilometer before the distant sound of engines running caused Bravestone to freeze, cocking his gun quicker than Oberon could blink.

“What the hell is that?” The Professor questioned, hands shaking with fear as the sound only grew louder. Shoving the map into the nearest pocket of his shirt, he swiveled around to face the archeologist with wide eyes.

“It’s Van Pelt’s men. They must have seen us changing direction. I knew they were tracking us,” Bravestone snarled. Eyebrows drawn together and pistol raised, Bravestone looked at Roundhouse over one of his squared shoulders.

“Ruby, I need you and Finbar to distract the brunt of them. Go south, lead them away from the group.”

Roundhouse and Finbar nodded in unison. Without uttering a single word, Finbar extracted a shrouded pouch from his bag and shoved it into the Professor’s hands.

“What?!” Oberon squawked, a burst of panic causing him to seize up. “What are you giving it to me for?!”

Bravestone wasted no time, forcing the jewel onto the Professor as Finbar and Roundhouse raced toward the impending onslaught of motor engines.

“There’s no time, Professor. Head for the trees, Seaplane will cover you. Wait until Roundhouse or Finbar find you both. Now go!”

In the haste of trying to shove the bundle into his pocket, the Professor nearly fell over his shaking feet. To his right, Seaplane grabbed ahold of his arm and quickly tore off in the direction of the dense jungle, tugging Oberon behind him like a ragdoll. Adrenaline began to flush throughout his body, and the Professor could barely breathe as their surroundings rushed by them in their urgency.

The sound of heavy gunfire erupted just behind them, and Oberon let out a shout as he caught sight of a group of men on motorcycles from his peripheral. Bravestone’s pistol cracked like a whip in the midst of the mayhem, and Oberon had to stop himself from falling to his knees as the clash of bullets hit the ground just before their feet.

Seaplane moved to grasp at the Professor’s wrist, and Oberon found himself gripping his helmet in turn as they quickly rushed behind the treeline. The sudden clash of gunfire abated, but Seaplane and the Professor had yet to stop as they continued to sprint, upsetting the puddles of water that were gathered about their feet.

Oberon felt his lungs burning from the exertion his body was going through, and he tugged at Seaplane’s wrist in an attempt to get the other man to stop. Immediately the younger man slowed, pulling Oberon to his side and resting them against the gnarled trunk of the closest tree. He drank in deep breaths with the Professor, perspiration dotting his forehead.

“Stay here,” Seaplane wheezed, extracting a bowie knife from the top of his boot. Oberon choked at the sight, wide-eyed as the pilot quickly sped off in the direction they came, the telltale sound of motorcycle engines growing closer.

Sliding down the length of the tree, Oberon couldn’t help but stare as he followed Seaplane’s rapidly shrinking figure, heart threatening to burst out of his ribcage. The lump in his pocket dug uncomfortably into his thigh, and the Professor forced himself to flatten his figure among the dense foliage around him.

Gunfire rang out through the thick air once more, closer than Oberon would have liked. Clutching at his chest in panic, he willed himself to disappear as the smattering of bullets only drew closer, the shouts of unknown men echoing through the trees. A few more rounds of heavy artillery drowned out their bellowing voices, and after the crescendo came to it’s peak, all was silent.

Oberon could hear his heartbeat pounding inside his ears like a drum. Swallowing gulps of air as quietly as he could, the Professor waited for any more sounds of gunfire to grace his ringing ears.

The silence stretched uncomfortably. Oberon continued to wait.

After counting to one hundred and back, the Professor rose unsteadily, fingers dragging along the grimy moss of the tree beside him. Looking behind himself from the safety of it’s trunk, he quietly moved out into the open jungle, adjusting his glasses along the bridge of his nose.

With some semblance of recognition, Oberon hunkered low to the ground and quietly made his way in the direction that Seaplane and him had come from. It didn’t take long before he stumbled over a partially-obscured root that emerged from the ground.

Glancing toward his feet, Oberon stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t an exposed root.

It was an _arm_.

The Professor fell backwards, quickly shuffling away from appendage and covering his mouth to silence a scream. Exposed from beneath a nearby shrub, Oberon followed the limb until he discovered the body it was connected to, shrouded on the other side of the plant. After a few moments of morbid observation, the Professor noted that the man was dead—the lack of rise and fall from his chest gripping Oberon in it’s simplicity.

A sudden presence at his back caused his hairs to stand on end. Spinning around, Oberon was relieved to see that it was none other than Bravestone, shirt covered in mud and a darker liquid that the Professor hoped wasn’t blood.

Bravestone didn’t offer up any words of consolation, merely pushing past the Professor and into the midst of the jungle before them. Lost for words, Oberon followed him, only to stop immediately as he surveyed the ground around them.

Bodies were strewn across the jungle floor, limp against the grass like misshapened dolls. Oberon couldn’t hold back at the sight, a broken yell escaping his lips as he surveyed the carnage. Eyes flickering from body to body, he felt himself seize up as the familiar sheen of brown leather caught his eye.

Without a moment to process the situation, Oberon called out the pilot’s name and ran to his side, grasping at his leather jacket with shaking fingers. The mantra of the other man’s name was an unyielding stream that poured from his lips as the Professor turned Seaplane over, eyes already filling themselves with tears of grief.

Bravestone was trying to speak to him, but Oberon was completely enveloped in attempting to resuscitate the other man. An unsightly gash leaked blood along Seaplane’s temple, and Oberon noted with a frantic glance-over that no other wounds were apparent on the pilot’s body. The faint ghost of breath against the Professor’s cheek made him gasp in relief, thanking every god above that the man was still breathing. Running his palms alongside Seaplane’s face and neck, Oberon shook him, determined to bring the pilot back into the waking world.

Not a moment later, Seaplane’s eyes flew open and he let out a strangled cough. Oberon gasped in both delight and surprise, heaving air as the pilot wildly surveyed his surroundings. As the pilot finally realized that Oberon was the one clutching him, he let out a cry of relief.

“S-Shelly—Jesus,” Seaplane stuttered, enveloping the Professor in a unexpected hug. The warmth of the other man’s arms around him caused Oberon to shake, tears now openly flowing down his dirtied cheeks. Their embrace lasted only for a moment as an uproar of gunfire exploded behind them. Seaplane threw the pair to the side as the sound of Bravestone’s pistol went off in response, splitting the air with every emptied chamber.

What could have only been a few seconds later seemed like an eternity to the Professor as he and Seaplane shielded themselves against a fallen tree. The pilot coughed, wiping a hand across his forehead and smearing the blood with an unsteady hand. To their side, a lone gun laid abandoned against the jungle floor. Not hesitating for a second, Oberon reached a hand out and grabbed the barrel of the weapon, fingers slipping against the dark metal.

Seaplane had ushered him forward, directing the pair toward an opening to the left. Keeping a tight hold on the other man’s jacket, Oberon followed as they half-crawled toward their escape, ducking lower with each new crack of gunfire.

After the pair found themselves a safe distance away, Seaplane tugged the Professor to his feet, pointedly herding them in the opposite direction of the gunfire. Lying directly in their path of travel was an abandoned motorcycle, tipped on it’s side against the jungle floor. Seaplane paused, examining it with a gleam in his eye and drawing away from the Professor in his observation.

Behind the cusp of his furred color, Oberon caught sight of a shrouded figure emerging from behind the trees.

Everything moved at half the normal speed, a sudden slowing of time itself allowing the man to clearly form in the Professor’s sight, his weapon drawn. Before Oberon had even an inkling of what to do, the gun in his hand was raised and he fired wildly in the stranger’s direction, ears ringing at the proximity to the gun’s chamber. The pistol’s setback caused him to stagger, eyes unblinking as the figure toppled in an unmoving pile to the jungle floor.

Oberon was silent, hand still gripping the butt of the pistol and aiming at the area where the man had previously stood. Seaplane, hunched over with his hands around his ears, gaped up at the Professor with with a shocked expression. The pair stood, silent as they processed the event that just occurred.

Seaplane was the first to move, slowly extending himself to full height as he approached Oberon. The Professor had yet to break eye contact with the sliver of jungle the pistol was still aimed at. A calloused hand met the junction between Oberon’s neck and shoulder, and he was shocked from his reverie when Seaplane leaned in, overtaking Oberon’s gaze with his own gentle eyes.

“We need to go,” was all Seaplane had to say. The Professor nodded, neck stiff as he fought to keep tears from welling up in his eyes. The pilot rubbed his hand comfortingly against Oberon’s neck, and the Professor allowed himself to be dragged away from the scene as Seaplane navigated them towards safety.

 

 

It didn’t take them long to find Bravestone and the others.

When their group was finally all together again, the now-familiar sound of motorcycle engines revving forced them to push deeper into the jungle. Seaplane had yet to remove his hand from the Professor’s wrist, the solid grip a familar tether for Oberon to grasp onto in his catatonic state.

When they had pushed past another barrier of trees, the group had nearly toppled over one another as they faced a sudden cliff. A waterfall drained downward to their left, upsetting the basin below and nearly drowning out the whirring motorcycles behind them.

“We’re going to have to jump!” Bravestone shouted over the cascading sound of water. Oberon had barely been able to react before Finbar moved past him and threw himself over the side of the precipice. Roundhouse shoved by, following suit without any hesitation. Oberon watched as their figures shrank, splashing into the depths below.

“Professor, we need to go!” the archeologist hissed, grabbing onto Oberon’s shoulder with bruising strength. Seaplane had turned to face Oberon, now gripping his hand as he searched the other man’s face.

“On three, we jump!”

Oberon nodded, fear causing his throat to seize up.

After that, all was silent. Seaplane’s mouth moved without sound, and then they were kicking off the ground and falling through the air. For a few seconds, the Professor didn’t react, the rush of wind and air sucking the breath from his lungs.

They hit the water at a bruising speed, the cold shock of it causing Oberon to kick out in panic. Somehow, Seaplane and him had separated before impact, and the Professor clawed upward in a desperate attempt to break the surface. Gasping as he breached from the murky depths, Oberon wildly spun around in the water, his glasses hanging off one ear and his vision blurry.

Seaplane immediately surfaced a few meters away, coughing up water as he paddled to Oberon’s side. The Professor caught the end of Bravestone’s jump from the cliff, diving feet first into the water and resurfacing a few seconds later.

When Seaplane finally made it to his side, Oberon noticed that the pilot held his pith helmet in hand. Seaplane splashed alongside him and they quickly began to paddle towards safety. The cold water flowed around the Professor at every stroke, causing his teeth to chatter as he made his way to the nearest patch of dry land. Roundhouse and Finbar were already dragging themselves along the shoreline, dripping wet against the murky bank.

Oberon had barely any strength to pull himself from the water, collapsing just beyond the edge of the basin. Seaplane appeared at his left not a moment later, setting the Professor’s helmet along the ground between them. Together, they laid on the bank and caught their breath, eyeing one another out of the corner of their eyes. Seaplane coughed, a slight smile tipping the edges of his watery lips upward.

“Let’s never do that again. Agreed?”

Oberon nodded, heart slowing down as he sucked in air. “Agreed.”

At that moment Bravestone pushed past them, dripping water on the pair as he silently stalked across the bank. Feeling a newfound sense of unease, Oberon forced himself to sit up and watched as the archeologist angrily sat down on a nearby boulder, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“We’re lucky that nobody got hurt,” Seaplane offered aloud, helping Oberon to his feet and setting the helmet on his head.

Bravestone bristled, muscles tightening visibly in his arms. “We’re lucky nobody in _our_ group got hurt.”

Everyone remained silent, watching the archeologist as if they were waiting for him to continue. Not a moment later, Bravestone rose to his feet once more and angrily paced along the shoreline.

“Van Pelt sacrificed the lives of his men to further his own gain. For that, I can’t forgive him,” he spat, voice dangerously low and hands tightening into fists. “When we find him, he’s going to pay for that choice dearly.”

Oberon’s eyes grew wide at the threat. His legs still trembled at the memory of what had transpired in the jungle, the things he had never imagined he would see. The blood that was now on his own hands.

The Professor felt a resurgence of emotion run over him, and the tears that welled up in his eyes were nearly impossible to stop from coming. Seaplane seemed to notice the change in his demeanor immediately, moving closer to rub a hand against his shoulder. Running his fingers against the side of his pantleg, Oberon froze as he no longer felt the familiar lump in left pocket.

“The Jewel,” he gasped, frozen in horror as his heart spasmed in his chest.

Finbar moved forward, holding his backpack up. “It’s in here. I gave you a decoy to distract Van Pelt’s men, just in case.”

Relief flooded through the Professor’s body, and the tears that threatened to spill over were now openly sliding down his cheeks. Angry at his emotional state, he dragged an arm over his face and clenched his teeth.

“What are we even doing this for?” Oberon whispered, voice broken and tight with sorrow. “No artifact on Earth is worth this amount of bloodshed.”

All eyes were suddenly on him, staring in quiet, mutual understanding. Bravestone stepped forward, seemingly gentle and void of all previous anger as he watched the Professor‘s eyes.

“I’m afraid I still haven’t told you the entire truth, Professor.”

 

 

When they had found a safe place to camp that night, Oberon was truly about to pass out from exhaustion, his entire body aching at the intense exertion it had gone through earlier in the day. Despite the Professor’s profound need for sleep, Bravestone had promised to expound him with a more-detailed explanation of their current situation.

Their group gathered in a circle around a makeshift fire, all silent as Bravestone extracted the same letter Oberon had seem him reading on the night they had met. It was Billingsley’s letter, Oberon thought with no dount in his mind. Gently slipping the paper from it’s protective envelope, Bravestone ushered it into the Professor’s shaking hands, face completely void of all emotion.

Oberon unfolded the letter, stomach churning at he looked over the creased stationary. It read:

_Dr. Bravestone,_

_I am writing to you regarding the desperate situation in Jumanji. We need your help at once!_

_My name is Nigel Billingsley, Jumanji field guide. I was hired by your former partner, now nemesis, Professor Russel Van Pelt, to lead a fateful expedition. You see, Professor Van Pelt had come in search of the fabled Jaguar Shrine, resting place of the sacred Jewel of Jumanji. As you know better than anyone, the Jewel was his great obsession, and after years of research, he believed that he had discovered it’s whereabouts._

_Van Pelt told me that he wanted to find the Jewel in order to document it in his writings. What I did not know was that he intended to take the Jewel for himself. Legend tells that the Jaguar watches over Jumanji, and anyone who dares to blind him will be consumed by a dark power. Van Pelt assumed dominion over all of Jumanji’s creatures, possessing them, controlling them... and a terrible curse befell this once placid land. I begged him to put it back, but once he had it in his grasp, he could never let it go. So I waited until they slept that night, and I made my move._

_If you are in need of a navigator, I’ve sent a map, which explicitly details the landscape of Jumanji, to a well-known cartographer by the name of Sheldon Oberon. He’s a Professor at King’s College in London. Here’s hoping he will assist you in your journey. With the help of your associates, you must use your complimentary skills to return the Jewel to the Jaguars Eye, and lift the curse._

_Kind Regards,  
Nigel Billingsley_

Oberon was silent as he finished the letter, eyes continuing to run over the words without comprehension. His fingers twitched against the white stationary.

“It was my decision to keep this hidden from you, Professor. The others had no choice but to assist me in lying about the true goal of our mission,” Bravestone whispered. “I thought it was the only way I could convince you to help us. If Van Pelt gets the Jaguar’s Eye back, there’s no telling what chaos he could unleash upon this world.”

The Professor continued to stare at the letter, eyes unfocused. He let out a single broken laugh, void of humor.

“Is this a joke?” he questioned, staring at the group over the rims of his glasses. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that—that this Jewel somehow contains a _supernatural_ force?”

“You saw it yourself, Professor,” Finbar spoke, moving closer with a solemn gaze. “That snake attack was no accident. It was Van Pelt’s hold on the creature that caused it to attack you so viciously.”

“And Van Pelt finding our location was no accident either. When you can control every bird in the air, you could definitely spot us sticking out like a sore thumb,” Roundhouse added.

Oberon was rendered speechless by their words, the shock of betrayal causing him to look away from their pitying gazes with eyes tightly-shut. After a moment to gather his thoughts, the Professor turned to address Seaplane, heart aching in his chest at the look on the pilot’s face.

“Seaplane?”

The younger man sighed, eyes glassy as he openly expressed his regret.

“It’s true, Shelly. I wanted to tell you—I tried—I’m sorry. Bravestone said it would jeopardize the expedition if you knew.”

The Professor’s throat clenched at his words, forcing him to swallow thickly.

”So, I’m risking my life against some otherworldly forces against my will? Is that it?” He hissed beneath his breath.

Seaplane moved forward and attempted to comfort the Professor, reaching out a hand to clasp his shoulder.

Oberon lurched back, anger now openly coursing through his veins. The devastating look of rejection on the pilot’s face was too much for him to bear, and Oberon continued his retreat until he was far enough away to not see the faces of the group before him. Turning on his heal, the Professor buried himself against the solid wood of a nearby tree, no longer holding back sobs as he desperately wished for this nightmare to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said this chapter was going to be happier? I lied through my teeth. Also, I tried to make it apparent earlier in the story that Oberon had no idea that the Jaguar’s Eye was supernatural and I failed. Next chapter will explain that more concisely!


	4. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy hell was this a nightmare to write. I must have written three different versions of this chapter before finally settling on this mess. This chapter is very very very much a stray from the movie plot and even my intended story plot, so I apologize if this is crap and filler-y! NSFW content is ahead. An OC is ahead. Thanks again to all the amazing people who gave me feedback so far, you are the reason I keep on writing!

The night had been fraught with restlessness and unease.

Midnight had rolled over the immense island once more. Any light from the full moon above was obscured by the dark clouds that settled low in the sky, and not soon after they arrived had the rain torrented down in a violent deluge. The Professor stayed motionless as the downpour washed over him, freezing against his exposed skin.

Oberon wasn’t sure how long he had remained against the wide expanse of the tree, forehead pressed into the wet, mossy bark. His helmet did little to shield him from the whipping rain, fat droplets falling from it’s brim and onto his already soaked clothes. The Professor was exhausted, head pounding as he continued to struggle to stay awake. His mind raced with thoughts of violence, flashing pictures of broken bodies and blood. It was a living nightmare etched on the back of his eyelids.

He had killed a man.

The Professor willed himself to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to endure the horrible images or intrusive thoughts any longer. Dragging his shaking fingers across it’s trunk, Oberon pushed himself away from the sturdy tree. His glasses were covered with droplets of rainwater, clouding his vision as he stared unblinking into the jungle before him.

For a split second, the Professor felt calm as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the jungle. No chittering creatures or cawing fowls met his ears. The continuous smattering of raindrops against the leaves was tranquil, familiar. It was reminiscent of the dreary cold of autumn that awaited him when he returned home.

Oberon’s throat tightened. If he was lucky enough to return to London after this hellish expedition. Heaving a sigh, the Professor continued to stare at nothing in particular, listening to the rainfall around him.

The sudden memory of Seaplane’s devastated expression quickly pushed to the forefront of the Professor’s mind. Forcing his eyes shut, Oberon felt his heart begin to ache, twisting in the depths of his chest. The pilot had never looked more dejected than he had at the Professor’s refusal of apology. Deep down, Oberon wanted to believe that the man had been genuine in his remorse. That he felt bad for betraying the others man’s trust.

And yet... Oberon had wondered if it had all been for the sake of the mission. If Seaplane had taken advantage of him under the guise of friendship. Once that idea had begun to take hold, Oberon felt his eyes begin to sear with unfallen tears, mingling with the rivulets of rain pelting his face. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could not deny that the entirety of the group had knowingly and intentionally deceived the Professor.

The familiar bubbling of fear began to grow in the Professor once more. He was a playing piece in a game much too complex for his own liking.

 

 

The next day started out tense. Oberon had managed to find his way back to camp in the early hours of morning, resting underneath a fallen log that shielded him somewhat from the torrential rain that continued to plague them. When the sun finally managed to break through the darkened clouds, he had barely managed to keep his eyes shut for more than half an hour at a time.

He did not speak to anyone. The Professor had pointedly avoided Seaplane at all costs. He even left the camp before breakfast, using the excuse of having to clean himself up before trudging into the humid jungle once more. The wound in his heart still too raw to be prodded. When Oberon had washed up and changed into dry clothes, he remained stooped alongside the brisk river that flowed westward, eyes downcast as he surveyed the bubbling stream.

The sound of footsteps over fallen branches alerted someone’s approach. Body rigid, Oberon deliberately continued to stare in the opposite direction, gnawing his bottom lip apprehensively. Out of sight, the visitor let out a low exhale, silent as they seemed to mull over their words.

“Can we talk?” Seaplane’s voice questioned, soft and unassuming. The hairs on the back of the Professor’s neck immediately stood on end, and an intense shiver traveled down his spine as anxiety settled in his gut.

“I—I don’t think I can,” Oberon managed to grit out, voice shaking. Talking with Seaplane was the last thing he wanted to do. “And I don’t know if I should.”

Silence met his stumbling words. He could hear the shift of leather just a few feet away.

“Alright, you don’t have to talk, but... but the only thing I ask is that you listen.” The pilot cleared his throat, pausing for another moment. “I wanted to tell you everything, Shel—uh, Professor. I really did.”

Oberon shook, hands grasping at his exposed knees. Seaplane continued.

“Remember the night that the snake attacked you? After I was done patching you up, I went back to talk to Bravestone. I wanted him to tell you the truth. He told me that you wouldn’t understand, that you’d be terrified—I told him that he was wrong. You deserved to know, and I should have told you.”

Silence.

“I know that it’s hard to understand. I know that you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I just—“ Seaplane’s voice cracked, and the Professor could hear him fight for the right words. “I just wanted to help keep you safe.”

Oberon spun around to face the pilot, desperately fighting another bout of tears that seemed to have plagued him for the past twenty-four hours. His anxiety morphed into anger, boiling deep and hot in the pit of his stomach. Rising to his feet, the Professor clenched his hands into fists at his sides. After a moment of composure, he met Seaplane’s gaze.

The pilot looked wrecked, dark circles turning the skin beneath his eyes a deep purple. His mouth was set in a thin, rigid line. Moving incrementally closer, Oberon felt his reply snag in his throat at the sight. He wetted his cracked lips, expression hardening in tandem with his rising ire.

“You wanted to keep me _safe?_ ” Oberon spat, eyes narrowed. “If that were true, you would have told me before I ever put myself in a vulnerable position.”

Seaplane looked stricken, mouth falling slack as he processed the other man’s words. Oberon continued, tone vitriolic and rising like bile that left a bitter taste in his throat.

“I thought I could trust you. All of you. I thought that this would be an adventure, not some terrifying game which could cost me my life. Bravestone warned me it would be dangerous, yes—but he never mentioned that this Van Pelt had supernatural abilities. If I had known, I never would have come.”

The pilot continued to stare at him, speechless.

“I should have never agreed to this. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m no adventurer, and I certainly don’t want my life to end at the hands of a madman.”

At that, Seaplane moved forward into the Professor’s space, feigning a neutral expression.

“I thought—I thought we were friends.”

Oberon’s heart clenched, tight as if a fist had wrapped around it. A moment of clarity washed over him, and suddenly his mind was at ease. Staring upward, he met Seaplane’s glassy eyes.

“I thought we were too.”

No response was made by the pilot. Oberon left him by the river, fighting against the bitter tears that spilled over his cheeks as he went.

 

 

It ended up being a rough couple of days in the jungle.

Since his previous interaction with Seaplane, the Professor had avoided the other man entirely, shielding himself from the pilot’s mournful gaze with the help of his pith helmet. Everyone tried to carry on as usual. Oberon navigated, map in hand. Bravestone and the others followed. No discussions or camaraderie was had.

When they finally crested the final hill that led them to the Bazaar, Oberon had not spoken a word otherwise for an entire day. The group had merely trailed behind him, Roundhouse and Bravestone with guns drawn in case there was any trouble. The Bazaar was a spectacular sight for the Professor to behold, winding up the steep cliffside of the enormous mountain it was carved into.

Near the very bottom passage into the roaring market, a group of men awaited, looking disinterested in their troupe as they slowly passed by. All sorts of people roamed the narrow streets, holding various pieces of cloth and jewelry as they went. Before Oberon could force himself into the crowd, Bravestone stopped him with a gentle hand at his elbow. His eyes remained focused on the slew of people before him as he addressed the group.

“Van Pelt has spies everywhere. I’ll lead from here on out. Stay close behind, and don’t draw any attention to yourselves.”

Everyone responded with short nods, silent as they followed the archeologist into the Bazaar. To his right, the Professor was strongly aware of Seaplane’s presence, the familar smell of citronella almost overbearing in their proximity. Roundhouse fell into step at his left, expressionless. One hand remained wrapped around the hilt of her pistol.

They haphazardly navigated through the vast crowd around them. Oberon was slightly relieved at the sight of other people, no longer feeling alone due to his ostracism of the group. Smoke seemed to rise high above the mud-clay walls, spices and the familiar charred scent of meat heavy on the air. The cacophony of noise around him was reminiscent of the bustle of London traffic, men and women running to and fro with bundles of goods in their arms. Numerous homemade pots and pans hung from sturdy wooden fixtures. Woven cloths dangled from every open window, painting the sides of the marketplace with rich maroons and purples.

Bravestone lead them through the winding streets with almost precognitive ease. After they began to ascend higher and higher up the mountainside, Oberon became aware of a repeated pattern that was sewn into the hanging cloth blankets above.

His mouth drew slightly open. It was almost certainly a key symbol for them to follow. Sure enough, Bravestone turned a corner where another hanging fabric displayed the same four swirls as the one previous. They continued to shuffle through the congested walkways until the archeologist eventually stopped in front of an old wooden door, nestled in the corner of a rectangular clearing. The same four intersecting spirals from before were carved into it at the very top.

Bravestone lifted one massive, gloved hand. Knocking three times in quick succession, he eased back and raised himself to full height. Everyone waited, shoulders tense.

Not a moment later, the archaic door swung inward, upsetting the dust that rose up from the dry brick ground below. An elderly woman wrapped in a turquoise shroud peaked out from behind the doorframe. Her eyes widened, stretching the crow’s feet that lined her skin.

Wasting no time, the woman quickly stepped aside and allowed the group to shuffle in. When the last person made it through the door, the elderly woman locked it into place and hobbled over to the far side of the room.

Oberon looked around, appalled as he took in the sight. Ornate tapestries hung from the rafters above, every shade of color visible in the silken threads. Around the room were various weaving apparatuses, wooden looms of every shape and size pressed alongside the clay walls. Turning to face the others, Oberon watched as Bravestone helped the woman settle into a rocking chair, just a few scant paces away from a roaring fireplace.

“Nigel told me you would be coming,” she murmured, voice gravelly. “But I did not expect you to arrive all at once.”

Bravestone reached for a woven quilt that sat on a nearby chair, quickly unfolding it and setting it over the woman’s lap. The Professor blinked at the sight, confused as he watched the archeologist move it into place.

“We would have split up if it weren’t so dangerous. I didn’t want to put anyone in any more danger than we’re already in. I don’t think anyone followed us.”

The elderly woman extracted a pipe from her side, slowly igniting it with a match that seemingly appeared in her hand. She inhaled the tobacco for a moment, silent as she observed their group with tired eyes. Her dark skin glowed as the fire beside her continued to burn.

“I believe you, Dr. Bravestone. Your people will be safe here for the time being, but after tonight it would be wise of you to take your leave.”

Bravestone bowed his hairless head, nodding at her words. “We cannot thank you enough for your hospitality, Yibanathi. We will repay you for your gratuity.”

Yibanathi smiled, her wrinkled face accentuating the grin. With a short nod, she pointed her pipe in the direction of a doorway that was concealed with another woven quilt.

“Through there is the staircase that will lead you to your rooms. There are three that should accommodate you all well enough for the night.” Leaning back into the wooden rocking chair, she joined her hands together on her lap. “Dinner will be in a few hours.”

They all uttered out a few short words of thanks, following each other in a single file line towards their rooms. Oberon trailed behind, watching Yibanathi out of the corner of his eye. The elderly woman merely continued to smoke her pipe, silent as she watched back, unblinking.

When Oberon finished ascending the stone steps, two of the three rooms were already closed. The final door to his left remained open, and the Professor didn’t think twice before shuffling in and setting his rucksack down by the doorframe.

Oberon froze as he glanced upward. Seaplane was at one of the beds, eyes wide. The younger man immediately rose to his feet and reached for his own bag, pointedly not meeting the Professor’s gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’ll see if Ruby has some free space in her room,” he said in a rush, still bent over his things. Oberon felt his stomach churn, and before he knew it he had marched across the room, pausing alongside the other man.

“It’s—it’s fine. I, uh... it’s alright.”

Seaplane paused, still hesitant to meet the Professor’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’m... I’m sure.”

With a short nod, the pilot slowly rose up, hands lax at his sides. The two of them awkwardly stood in silence, not looking at each other. Before the Professor could figure out how to ease the tension, Seaplane snuck around him and left the room, not saying a word. Oberon tried to ignore the sting of his departure, gnawing at his lip as he heard the door shut behind him. With a sigh, he turned to the other bed perpendicular to the pilot’s own and laid down among the soft sheets. Almost immediately, sleep took over him and he welcomed it.

 

 

_Guns were going off, artillery shells scattering through the air as the pound of metal and bullets exploded the earth around them. Oberon was running, stout legs and round frame hindering him as the other members of their group quickly moved past him. He couldn’t see their faces, only the familiar lines of their bodies as they outran him, not looking back as he shouted for them to wait up._

_There was something on his heels, and he desperately tried to run faster, trying to push himself further away from the ominous creature behind him. The machine guns and pistol bullets continued to score the ground, shattering his eardrums with their intensity as they whizzed by. Bravestone and the others were now too far along for him to catch up, and no matter how loudly he cried they continued to ignore his calls._

_Something grabbed his ankle, snaring him like a rabbit in a primitive trap. Oberon felt himself being thrown to the ground, his glasses smashing against the wet jungle floor as he scrabbled at it with shaking hands. He was forced onto his back, and the Professor couldn’t breathe as he took in the terrifying sight before him._

_The snake that had attacked him was now ten times it’s size, swaying it’s enormous frame as it observed him with eyes that glowed green. Extending it’s mouth open, Oberon felt the breath being sucked from his lungs as it’s enormous incisors gleamed. The forked tongue that dragged alongside it’s fangs shook as it let out a bone-chilling hiss, so strong that it vibrated through the Professor’s chest._

_Drawing back it’s ugly head, the Professor could only watch as it glared at him with hateful eyes. He couldn’t even react as it descended upon him, fangs sinking into his flesh as it’s emerald eyes seemed to burn with an unnatural ire, consuming him and pulling him deeper into it’s maw._

_Oberon finally had the nerve to start screaming, flailing wildly as he the pain seared through his every nerve. It was so intense that he felt as if he were being consumed by the flames of Hell. The darkness quickly enveloped all around him, and the Professor felt his mind slipping away, agony continuing to lash him._

_He begged for death to free him from the tremendous, inescapable pain. The pitch black world around him was too terrifying to bear._

_Death did not come. He was alone._

 

 

When Oberon awoke, he was drenched in a slick sheen of sweat, cooling rapidly against his feverish skin. Heart hammering away in his chest, he allowed himself to heave in a few gasps of air, lungs fighting to take in the much-needed oxygen. The ceiling above him was a welcome sight, the nightmare he had still fresh on the edges of his mind.

The room around him had turned dark during his unconsciousness. His door had been left cracked open, a thin beam of light slicing through the inky darkness around him. Shifting his position, Oberon eyed the bed to his left. Seaplane was nowhere to be seen.

Forcing himself to sit up, Oberon scrubbed anxiously at his beard. In the past few weeks, it had begun to grow too long for his own personal liking. Blindly searching for his glasses on the night table above his bed, the Professor snatched the frames in hand and carefully slid them on. Clothes wrinkled and hair mussed up, Oberon extracted the pocketwatch from his vest and attempted to check the time.

It was nearing ten o’clock. He had been asleep for longer than he had expected.

Rising to his feet, the Professor quietly moved across the room and poked his head out from behind the door. Both of the other rooms were closed off, and Oberon could hear the distant sound of Bravestone’s snoring through the next-closest door.

Descending the stony steps, Oberon froze as he suddenly realized how desperately he needed to use the restroom. Pushing past the quilted door, he caught sight of Yibanathi at one of the various tables, a mound of thread in her hand.

“Ah, you’re awake,” she said aloud, not looking up from her sewing. “I was wondering when you would come down to eat.”

Oberon was at a momentary loss for words. Staring at her as she continued her work, he cleared his throat and searched for what to say.

“I’m sorry I missed dinner. I was, uh... resting.”

“I know. You’re friend said that you were exhausted and that you didn’t want to be disturbed.” She set aside the spool of thread, finally meeting his eyes. “I can understand why.”

The Professor moved forward, guilt settling low in his gut. “I’m sorry if I disrespected your hospitality.”

Yibanathi waved a wrinkled hand, eyes closed. “It’s not an offense to sleep, Professor. Bravestone told me how hard you work.”

“He did?”

“Yes. Bravestone wants you all to get as much rest as you need. I am more than happy to help.”

The elderly woman slowly rose up, reaching for a nearby walking stick that rested against the old wooden table. Oberon watched as she shuffled by, moving past him and back through the fabric door. Oberon silently followed, eyeing her as she moved into the adjacent room to the right of the stairs. A candle lit up the dark entryway, and she slowly emerged once more.

“I kept some leftover food in case you woke up. I can prepare it for you, if you’d like.”

Oberon flushed a deep red as his stomach audibly growled at the thought. “I’d appreciate that, thank you. Uh—you wouldn’t happen to have a restroom nearby, would you?”

“If you go through there, a hidden path will take you to a small bathhouse.” Yibanathi pointed a shaking finger to the back door behind the stairs. “There’s a well if you need to wash up, as well as a firepit to warm the water. You take care of yourself while I prepare this.”

The Professor could only flash a grateful smile before he nearly tore down the door in his desperation, rushing as fast as he could to the relief that awaited him.

 

 

Oberon had never been more impressed by a meal than he had at the one Yibanathi had prepared him. After he had cleaned himself up for the first time in two weeks, he had been ushered into the small kitchen area and served a bowl full of yellow porridge. His elderly companion had informed him that it was called phutu, made of corn and seasoned with a mixture of spices.

He was embarrassed at how quickly he finished the meal, bashful as the woman laughed at his enthusiasm. Reaching into the pot at the nearby stove, she served him more with a wide smile.

“So, Bravestone told me that you are a cartographer. That must be hard work.”

Swallowing another mouthful of food, Oberon nodded. “I’ve always been interested in maps, ever since I was a boy. They’re... comforting. They don’t change all that much. It’s familiar.”

Yibanathi nodded, hands in her lap. “Jumanji is one of the few places on this earth to have never been fully explored. The people here are travelers, merchants. We are happy here... or at least we used to be.”

“Now you’re all in danger because of Van Pelt. That’s why you’re helping us, right?”

With a sigh, the woman nodded her head. “These explorer types have tried to take over this land before, and all have failed until now. My son was one of the few men who tried to stop Van Pelt from terrorizing the villages once his prized possession was lost.” 

Oberon felt his stomach drop as he saw the tears begin to fall from her eyes. Scooting slightly forward in his chair, he extended a hand out to grasp at her own. She graciously took it, skin soft to the touch.

“What was his name?” he questioned.

The elderly woman smiled, cheeks still wet as she gazed at the Professor. “His name was Uluthando. It means ‘he is love’ in the native language of my people.” She reclined back, closing her eyes. “It comes from another word _uthando_ , meaning love. He was about your age. And he was a very good man.”

Not knowing what to say, the Professor merely continued to hold her withered hand.

The sudden sound of the back door being opened jolted the Professor with fear. Rising to his feet, the familiar image of Roundhouse and Seaplane moved into the low candlelight.

The four of them stared at each other, the awkward tension in the air palpable.

“It is getting late,” Yibanathi spoke, patting Oberon on the knee. “I suggest you all get some sleep.”

With a nod, the Professor quickly turned toward the staircase and raced up the steps, leaving Roundhouse and Seaplane to themselves. Shucking off his boots and outerwear at the door, Oberon scrambled to make it into his bed and feign sleep before Seaplane returned.

 

 

Ten or so minutes later, the pilot ambled inside and shut the heavy wooden door behind him. The Professor had turned to face the wall, covering himself in the assortment of sheets and blankets as he listened to the younger man prepare himself for sleep. Eyes open, he stared at the clay wall and forced himself to calm down, heart pumping wildly in his chest.

The sound of Seaplane falling onto the spring mattress was the last thing Oberon heard before all became silent. Breathing as quietly as he could, the Professor continued to stare into the dark, sleep evading him after his previous nap.

Oberon waited. Seaplane’s gentle snore did not comfort him as it usually did most nights in the jungle. Shifting in the dark, he waited for the sweet escape of sleep to consume him.

Ten more minutes passed. Then, a half hour had gone by. Still, Oberon had not managed to slip into unconsciousness. With a sigh, he shifted onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, impossible to see in the dark. The sound of Seaplane adjusting his covers as well alerted him that the younger man was also awake. Closing his eyes, the Professor fought himself mentally and tried his best to relax.

“This is ridiculous,” Seaplane’s phantom voice hissed. Oberon started, shocked at his sudden words.

“What?”

More movement was heard adjacent to his bed, and before Oberon could question what the pilot meant a hand grasped at his wrist. Fighting back a scream, the Professor quickly shuffled to sit up and attempted to pull free of it.

“We’re going to talk,” Seaplane stated, resolute.

Oberon felt his mouth fall slack at the younger man’s angry tone. Finally managing to escape Seaplane’s hold, he blindly reached for the oil lamp at his nightstand. In a split second, their room was lit by a soft orange glow.

Seaplane was sat alongside the edge of his bed, dressed only in a pair of jockey shorts and a tank top. Oberon felt his throat become dry as he observed the other man’s bare skin. With a flush of anger at both himself and the pilot, he continued to scoot back and glared at him with arms crossed.

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“No, _you_ just don’t want to hear what I have to say.” Seaplane moved forward, balancing himself with one hand on the mattress near Oberon’s side. “It’s absurd. You and I shouldn’t be acting like this.”

“Like what?” The Professor spat, eyes narrowed. “You’ve showed me what kind of person you are. That’s all there is to it.”

Seaplane’s brow furrowed, and he let out an angry huff at the man’s words. “You don’t have to forgive me for what I did. But I can’t in good conscience let you think for one second that I don’t care about you.”

Blushing an even deeper shade of red, Oberon avoided the other man’s eyes. “You don’t have to. Your actions made it clear to me how much you cared.”

Pushing off the bed, Seaplane stalked to the other side of the room, hands on his hips. Swirling around, he met the Professor’s eye with calm look, mouth set in a thin line.

“I think you’re scared. I think you’re scared of having me as a friend, and I don’t know why.”

Oberon scoffed, pushing off the bed and rising to his feet in response. “I’m not scared of friendship, I’m mad that you lied to me!”

“And you can be mad!” Seaplane interjected, throwing his hands up. “I made a mistake! And I’m sorry, and I know you don’t want to hear it but I’m sorry, and I love you, and I hate that I can’t even look at you without feeling—“

Seaplane broke off, his mouth hung open as he processed his words.

Oberon felt his ears begin to ring. His heart skipped a beat deep within his chest, and he suddenly couldn’t feel anything as he stared at the man before him, lungs devoid of air.

“... Could you repeat that?” The Professor questioned, voice barely above a whisper. He felt as if he were going to faint at any second, blood rushing everywhere but his brain.

Seaplane fisted his hands at his sides. Crossing the room in less than three strides, he grabbed Oberon’s face in his hands and kissed him.

It was surprisingly soft, the pressure of Seaplane’s lips against his own. The Professor could barely process the contact before he wrapped his arms around the pilot’s shoulders, sucking in a breath through his nose as Seaplane knitted his hands at his back. Seaplane was kissing him. Seaplane was _kissing_ _him_ , and it was so gentle and so sweet that Oberon was lightheaded.

His knees connected with the edge of the bed, and Oberon fell back onto the mattress with an audible gasp. Seaplane crawled over him, not stopping his kisses for a moment. A sudden bolt of heat traveled straight between Oberon’s legs, and he hissed as the weight of the other man’s body settled in his lap.

“S-Seaplane, _ah_ —w-wait,” he stuttered, thoughts scattered as he stared up at the man above him. Seaplane drew back, a look of panic evident on his face.

“Shit, I’m—I’m sorry. I should have asked, and now I’m—“

Oberon pulled the younger man down and kissed him again. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually _kissing the pilot_ , and it was so shocking that he immediately disconnected their lips, heat flooding his cheeks.

“It’s okay. I, uh... this is happening, right? You’re not joking.”

Seaplane laughed, adjusting his position so he was eye-level with the Professor.

“Yeah, I can’t really believe it either. I thought you were gonna deck me when I kissed you.”

Oberon rose too quickly for Seaplane to react, and they knocked their heads together. With a hiss, the Professor scrubbed a hand alongside his temple and uttered out a profuse apology. Seaplane chuckled as he massaged his own head.

“Why—why did you think I would do that?” Oberon questioned, resting on his elbows. “I mean, I’m very obviously not—uh, you know.” Eyes widening, he felt another wave of shock rush over him. “And you are?”

With a smile, Seaplane moved closer and looked into the Professor’s eyes. “I’ve only ever kissed one woman in my life, and that’s my mother. I thought you might have different opinions on that kind of lifestyle. I wasn’t sure.”

Smacking his forehead, Oberon let out a groan. “I’m an idiot. If I ever made you think that I would ever think that way—“

“You didn’t!” Seaplane rushed to say. “You’re just a bit older than me, and most people nowadays don’t exactly support being homosexual. Not even people my age.”

Oberon watched the younger man, completely enthralled as he messed with the dark curls at his temple. Reaching for Seaplane’s hand, he suddenly felt overcome with emotion.

“You... you really feel this way about me?”

It was now the pilot’s turn to blush. “Yeah. It started out as a friendly feeling, and then... I don’t know. I like you, Shelly. You’re sweet. And smarter than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’re handsome.”

With a squawk, the Professor indignantly shook his head. “I’m really not. I mean, look at me. I’m the opposite picture of an ideal physique, and I’m old, and I—“

Seaplane immediately shut him up with another kiss. Melting into it, Oberon wrapped his arms around his shoulders once more, moving his lips against the other man’s over and over again. The hot feeling in his stomach returned, and it didn’t take long for the heat to tighten in his burgeoning erection, pressed against the inside of Seaplane’s thigh.

The man aboved him groaned at the contact, pushing Oberon down against the mattress and straddling his waist. Severing their lips, he moved to kiss the underside of the Professor’s grizzled jaw.

“I—I liked you the moment I first saw you,” Oberon stammered, heart beating wildly out of control as Seaplane moved across his throat. “I thought you were the most handsome person I’d ever seen.”

The younger man chuckled at his words. Oberon could feel the vibrations against his skin.

“I thought you were pretty adorable yourself. You seemed so out of place, I just wanted to follow you around and take care of you,” Seaplane murmured.

With another flush, the Professor chuckled in response. “I’m glad you did.”

Seaplane paused for a moment, pulling back and staring at Oberon with hooded eyes.

“I’m truly sorry. For everything.”

“It’s okay. I forgive you. I’m sorry I’ve treated you so badly these past few days.”

With a smile, the younger man kissed Oberon’s cheek. “It’s not your fault, I definitely deserved it.” With a sly smile, he pushed himself back onto his hands and knees. “Can I touch you?”

Oberon could no longer fight the heat that spread along his body, momentarily at a loss for words.

“Uh—yeah. Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Seaplane questioned, concern furrowing his brow.

“Yes,” the Professor replied, voice gravelly. “I’m sure.”

That was all the pilot needed to hear. Sitting back on his feet, he deftly moved a hand beneath the waistband of the older man’s undergarments. Oberon couldn’t prepare himself for the intense shock of Seaplane’s hand on his erection, throat working hard as he swallowed a gasp.

Oberon couldn’t watch as the younger man pulled him from the confines of his briefs. Sucking in a moan, he forced his eyes open and watched as Seaplane spat in one of his hands, immediately wrapping it around him once more.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, cheeks burning as he drank in the sight.

Seaplane moved forward to kiss the Professor again, smiling impishly as he nipped at the man’s bottom lip. The hand on his cock moved at a modest pace, twisting up and down hardened length. Oberon couldn’t hold back a pained sound at the pilot’s firm grip around him, feeling short of breath as Seaplane moved back to his neck.

The intensity of the moment was dizzying. Seaplane bit against the skin above his collarbone, beginning to pick up the pace of his fist. Against his upper thigh, Oberon could feel Seaplane’s own erection digging into him, and he ground his leg upward without a second thought. Seaplane hissed at the contact, releasing his hold as he pressed down on the Professor in response.

“ _Shit_ ,” the younger man finally managed to whisper, eyes pinched tightly shut. The Professor suddenly had a bright idea for the first time that night, eyes gleaming.

“Come here,” Oberon murmured, pulling the pilot forward. Steeling himself, he pushed past the barrier of Seaplane’s briefs and palmed his own erection, watching as the pilot let out a shaky moan at his touch. Mirroring the other man’s actions, he too freed Seaplane’s cock and pressed up alongside it.

The lapse of skin against skin was an assault on his sensitive nerves. Seaplane growled at the contact, enveloping them both in his palm as best as he could before returning to Oberon’s lips. The kisses were no longer as gentle as they were previously, quick and sharp as Seaplane continued to press in.

It was all too much for Oberon to handle. He hadn’t felt this euphoric in a long time, and the fact that it was Seaplane of all people touching him and kissing him was sending him over the edge.

“ _Ah_ —Seaplane, I’m gonna—“

“Me too, Shelly, _fuck_ —“

It only took a few more strokes before Oberon came, teeth clenched as the hot wave rolled over him and spread over Seaplane’s thighs. The younger man followed not far behind, sucking a bruise into the skin beside the Professor’s jugular as he too had his release. For a moment, the pair merely caught their breath, Seaplane slowly releasing them from his grip and pressing his forehead against Oberon’s.

“Sorry for the mess,” he chuckled, eyes half-lidded. “It’s been a week or so since I’ve had time alone.”

Oberon pushed himself to sit up, eyeing the younger man with a mortified expression. “You—in the jungle?”

Seaplane suddenly looked embarrassed. “Y-yeah. I mean, only in the mornings. I’m not a fiend about it or anything.”

With a halfhearted laugh, Oberon could only stare at him with a smile, feeling his heart swell at the sight of Seaplane before him. Leaning in for another kiss, the Professor stopped himself, feeling nervous.

“Does this... happen again after tonight?” He questioned.

With a confused look, Seaplane met his gaze. “I would hope so. I mean... it’s entirely your decision. If you don’t want to do anything again that’s okay.”

Oberon flushed, angry at himself. “No no no. I’d very much like to do this again.”

“Okay, then. It’s a deal.”

“What is?”

With a blinding smile, Seaplane pushed the Professor back onto the bed, moving to rest by his side.

“You and me. Together.”

Heart feeling as if it were about to burst through his ribcage, Oberon shakily nodded. The surge of happiness that overtook him warmed his very core.

“Yeah. Together.”

The pair immediately moved to embrace, only to let out identical groans of displeasure as their mess pressed between them. Oberon fetched a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his shirt, grimacing as Seaplane laughed at the sight. Once they were both deemed clean enough, they removed their clothes and nestled underneath the woven comforter of the bed, curled against each other as they drifted off to sleep.

 

 

A shadowed figure rushed through the trees. The sound of his footfall was almost thunderous in the dead of night, the jungle completely silent but for the crunch of leaves and twigs underfoot.

Slowing as he neared a flickering light in the distance, the man stealthily moved forward, eyes narrowed as he caught sight of a group of men crowded around a roaring fire. Heads turning, the men immediately rose to their feet and took their weapons in hand. Nobody spoke a word, merely eyeing the new arrival with steely gazes.

Just beyond the group, nestled in a lavish chair, sat a man who was shrouded in darkness. The firelight was not strong enough to fully illuminate him. With his mouth set in a thin line, the first man moved toward him and bowed his head in reverence.

“Sir. We’ve found them.”

There was a pause at the revelation.

“Oh?”

“They just arrived at the Bazaar this afternoon. All five of them.”

The man in the dark was silent, contemplating the news. With a humorless bark of laughter, he uncrossed his legs and moved forward, right into the nearest patch of firelight. His left eye was clouded over and milky-white, unnerving as he stared at the man with a malicious smile.

“Well then. Let’s make sure we’re there to great them personally.”


	5. Bitter Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I want to say from the absolute bottom of my heart that I am extremely sorry for the huge delay in updating this fanfic. I promised it months ago, and unfortunately hit a huge writer’s block and was dealing with a lot of things in real life. My interest and love for this movie hasn’t waned a single bit, and I’m excited to announce that I should be finishing this story soon! I can’t and won’t make any promises on when the last chapter will be out, but I can say that it will be worth the wait and around 10k words. In addition to that, I’m also writing another Jumanji fic that’s going to run parallel to this fanfic (and contains my other fave Jumanji ship, take a guess). Again, I’m so sorry for this late update. Quick TW for gun violence in this chapter as well. Thanks to absolutely everyone who commented, gave kudos, and even bookmarked this story. Without you guys, my motivation would be nonexistent. I hope you enjoy!

The first golden rays of dawn brought Professor Oberon to the conscious world once more.

In his soporific stupor, the Professor was vaguely aware of the warmth that radiated at his backside and around his middle. Blinking his sleep-crusted eyes open, he glanced toward the adjacent wall above him. Without his spectacles, the window over the secondary bed was blurry, it’s purple drapes a fuzzy splotch against the orange clay walls.

Seaplane dozed behind him, forehead pressed against the heated nape of Oberon’s neck. Flushing at the memories of the previous night’s escapade, Oberon allowed himself a moment to listen to the other man’s snores. The blush on his cheeks only intensified as the hold that Seaplane had around him tightened, his arm flush against the Professor’s stomach. They were both still in a state of undress, skin pressing against skin.

Oberon glanced toward his trousers that laid abandoned at the foot of his bed, noting that he had forgotten to move his pocketwatch to the bedside table. Based on the amount of sunlight that filtered through the room, however, Oberon judged that it was still early in the morning. Bemoaning his need to leave the bed, the Professor tried to carefully extricate himself from Seaplane’s unsurprisingly strong grip.

Just as Oberon had managed to slip out from underneath the younger man’s arm, Seaplane opened his eyes and transfixed the other man with a drowsy look of confusion.

“Hnn—what’re you doing?” he questioned, voice rough from sleep. His stubble dragged alongside the Professor’s naked shoulder as he spoke.

“I just need to go check the time.”

Seaplane whined, moving his arms around Oberon once more. “No, stay in bed. You’re warm.”

The Professor blushed, allowing himself to be dragged back underneath the covers. With a contented sigh, he watched as the younger man nestled against him, feeling his heart swell with adoration.

“We should probably get up now, Seaplane.”

The other man grunted, merely shuffling further under the covers. With one hand, Seaplane wordlessly dragged his fingers along the older man’s hip. Oberon couldn’t withstand the flush of heat that prickled over his skin. Poking his elbow gently into the hard line of muscle at the pilot’s stomach, he cleared his throat and rolled his eyes at the pilot’s refusal to let go.

“You need to get up, or Bravestone will kill us both.”

A smidgen of black hair escaped from beneath their shared blanket.

“Seaplane, if you don’t get up I’m leaving you here by yourself.”

As if on queue, the younger man emerged from beneath the covers, a tired look of discontent on his face. With almost cat-like reflexes, Seaplane rolled over on top of Oberon, fixing his palms to the mattress on either side of the Professor’s head.

“Okay, I’m up,” he said with a smirk, moving to plant a kiss on the Professor’s grizzled cheek.

Oberon sputtered, the heat between them almost suffocating as he subborly refused to meet the pilot’s licentious smile. With a weak push at Seaplane’s sternum, Oberon tried his best to shuffle up into a sitting position as Seaplane laughed above him.

Without warning, a knock sounded at their door. Seaplane and the Professor snapped their attention to the carved wood frame at the same time, eyes growing wide as they fixated on the knob.

“Hey you two! Breakfast will be ready soon, so get off your asses,” Roundhouse sounded through the door. Oberon felt his throat close up as he continued to stare at the doorknob, stomach fluttering with nerves as it jittered slightly.

“Uh—sure thing Ruby! We’ll be right down!” Seaplane called, voice steadier than the Professor’s would have been himself.

Thankfully, the sound of descending footsteps on the staircase signaled Roundhouse’s retreat. Seaplane gazed down at Oberon, a look of relief softening his smile.

“That was close.”

The Professor’s eyebrows drew together, annoyance clear on his face as he glared at the pilot.

“Much too close.”

Graciously moving off the older man’s lap, Seaplane hopped down from the bed and reached for his shirt that laid abandoned near one of the ornate rugs. The Professor tried not to stare as the younger man bent down, still more exposed than the cartographer was used to seeing. Deciding that now was as good a time as ever to get dressed, Oberon snatched his spectacles from the nightstand and made quick work of collecting his articles of clothing.

 

 

When Seaplane and the Professor met the others in Yibanathi’s kitchen, the intoxicating smell of spices and meat wafting through the air was almost too much to bear. The Professor knew he had a penchant for the new cuisine, but was surprised to see that their elderly companion was not at the helm of the brick stove. Finbar, for once not adorning his hat, was toiling over the smoldering fire, a cast iron pan full of pork in hand.

“I see you two finally decided to wake up,” Bravestone muttered from the nearby table. His dark eyes narrowed as he assessed the pair, one eyebrow famously raised. “Did you get the all the sleep you needed?”

Oberon froze, unsure of how to respond. It would have been nearly impossible for Bravestone to have known what transpired between the two men the previous night, and yet a cold sweat began to collect on his brow as he searched for what to say.

“I was up late scouting, and then I kept poor Shelly awake with my snoring,” Seaplane chuckled, patting Oberon’s shoulder in a friendly manner. The Professor attempted a convincing smile in turn, nodding at his words.

Yibanathi, who had been surveying the group while smoking her pipe, shifted slightly in her seat, a wide smile adorning on her face. Oberon caught her gaze out of the corner of his eye, watching as she winked at him, a devilish smile on her wrinkled face.

Mortification immediately settled low in his stomach, and Oberon wheezed out an excuse of needing to use the restroom before retreating from the kitchen. Seaplane didn’t follow, and the Professor was glad for a moment of peace as he made his quick exit.

When Oberon had managed to compose himself enough to return, the group was already digging into their meals with identical looks of delight. The Professor, still somewhat in contention with the others, avoided everyone’s gaze and sat himself next to Seaplane, his stomach knotted like a fist.

“Well,” Yibanathi spoke, leaning over her near-empty plate. “You will be needing to restock on food and supplies for your journey, I presume.”

Bravestone hummed in affirmation, forcing another mouthful of food down his gullet. “Yes, we do. And it won’t be easy.”

“We’re going to need to come up with a plan to get what we need from the Bazaar,” Roundhouse interjected. “It’s not safe for us to be out in the middle of the day. Not when Van Pelt and his men are crawling around everywhere.”

Finbar nodded in agreemet. “It would be wise to send two people to collect the necessities, while the others find a route of escape.”

Seaplane shifted beside him, shoulders hunched. “I’ll volunteer to help scope out the Bazaar. Doc and Ruby, would you guys be willing to accompany me? That way Shelly and Mouse can go retrieve our supplies.”

Both Bravestone and Roundhouse nodded in agreement. From the other side of the table, Finbar fixed his indecipherable gaze on the Professor, unblinking. Oberon looked away, shame already beginning to churn in the pit of his stomach.

Bravestone, having cleared his plate of any remaining morsels of food, rose from his seat and crossed his trunk-like arms. “Then it’s decided. Let’s get ourselves freshened up, and prepare for the worst.”

 

 

“So,” Seaplane began, retrieving his leather jacket from the foot of his bed. “Are you going to be alright today?”

After breakfast had adjourned, the pilot dragged the Professor back to their room and proceeded to kiss him senseless against the intricately carved wooden door. It had taken Oberon a good five minutes before he managed to free himself from Seaplane’s warm embrace, deliberately not paying attention to his suddenly active nether regions as he gathered his belongings.

Oberon paused at the other man’s question, his fingers tightly gripping the straps of his rucksack. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you and Mouse haven’t exactly spoken for the past few days. Bravestone and Ruby too, for that matter.”

A wave of irritation passed over him, and the Professor huffed. “They haven’t exactly apologized for lying to me, either.”

Just as Oberon was angrily tying his rucksack closed, two arms wrapped themselves around his middle, firm yet gentle. He blushed as he felt the slight stubble of Seaplane’s chin against his bare neck.

“They’re all sorry, believe me. Bravestone may look like he’s doing fine, but I know he feels awful about it. He likes you, Shelly. They all do.”

The guilt that had started eating away at him during breakfast steadily grew. Feeling remorse, the Professor turned in Seaplane’s grip, staring into the pilot’s warm eyes.

“I don’t know that they would forgive me after the way I’ve treated them.”

Seaplane gave the shorter man a genuine smile, gently rubbing his hands along the older man’s back. “That’s not true, they would forgive you in a heartbeat. Bravestone and the others know that what they did was wrong, and that your reaction was reasonable.”

Oberon nervously ran a finger along the fur at Seaplane’s collar. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Talk to Bravestone before we leave. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it.”

With a sigh, Oberon pulled away from the pilot and turned back to his belongings. Behind him, he could hear the other man following his lead, the quiet squeak of his leather jacket comforting in the quiet room.

Suddenly, a new thought barraged it’s way to the forefront of the Professor’s mind. Stomach twisting uncomfortably as he pondered, Oberon anxiously cleared his throat and turned back to face the pilot.

“Seaplane... about last night.”

The other man stiffened. After a short moment, he twisted his head toward the older man.

“Yeah?”

“You said something, and I only just remembered it now.”

Seaplane finally turned to fully face the Professor, silent as he waited for clarification. Oberon felt his mouth become dry as he searched for the right words to say.

“You said—you said you... loved me.”

The Professor’s voice cracked at the end of his sentence. With a curious tilt of the head, Seaplane moved closer, lips curving upward.

“I did, because I do. Why do you mention it now?”

Oberon gaped at the pilot, surprise evident on his face. “Well—I just—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know how I feel.”

The sweet smile that had adorned the pilot’s face immediately disappeared. Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, he moved closer to Oberon, a look of hurt poorly masked on his face.

“You don’t know how you feel?”

“It’s not like that,“ Oberon rushed to say, moving across the space to grasp at Seaplane’s arm. “I just—no one has ever said it to me before. I’ve never been in...”

Oberon trailed off, his unspoken words saying more than he intended. Pointedly looking away from the younger man, the Professor stood in silence, ashamed at at his own inability to speak. The warm dryness of Seaplane’s palm against his cheek shocked Oberon from his mournful reverie, and he quickly met the pilot’s gaze with watery eyes.

“I understand. If I’m being completely honest with you, Shelly, I’ve never had someone to love before you came along. I’m sorry if I misinterpreted everything.”

Heart hammering in his chest, Oberon quickly enveloped Seaplane’s hand with his own, pressing it harder against his grizzled cheek.

“You didn’t misinterpret anything. I just don’t want you to get hurt, Seaplane. We barely know each other. And what about the mission? What if we never even manage to complete it, or—“

Seaplane swiped a gentle thumb alongside his skin, immediately silencing him. The sadness in his eyes felt like a dagger in Oberon’s heart.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” the younger man whispered, wrapping his free arm around the Professor. “I promise. Once all of this is over, we’ll figure it all out. Okay?”

Oberon nodded, feeling the lump in his throat only grow bigger. Pushing himself forward, he buried his face into Seaplane’s neck and tried his best to remember the rich scent of his leather jacket, hands gripping the slippery material with white-knuckled strength.

 

 

Mouse had been waiting for the Professor much longer than he had expected, judging by the zoologist’s annoyed glare after he had descended the stairs. Oberon was embarrassed to admit that he and Seaplane had taken longer than intended to say their goodbyes, both reluctant to let the other man go. With an apologetic smile, Oberon followed behind Finbar as he lead the way toward the back exit, a feeling of dread heavy in his gut.

Just beside the door sat Yibanathi, who had moved her rocking chair into the narrow hallway. Finbar whispered something unintelligible into her ear, and an enormous smile broke out over her wrinkled face. With a final squeeze of her shoulder, Finbar exited out into the street, letting the heavy wooden door close behind him.

Oberon found himself nervous to approach the old woman after the look she gave him earlier that morning. Throat feeling constricted, he slowly moved forward and came to a stop in front of her, purposefully avoiding her eyes.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Professor Oberon. I wish you luck on the remainder of your journey,” Yibanathi spoke.

Oberon whispered a word of thanks in return, sneaking a furtive toward her as discreetly as possible. The warm smile she had shared with Mouse remained, and the Professor relaxed ever so slightly. Yibanathi extended a shaking hand, and Oberon immediately reached for it, anxious as she pulled him closer toward her.

“I hope that your young pilot friend takes great care of you,” she whispered, a devilish smile replacing her normal one. “I see how much you mean to each other. Don’t let something that special slip through your fingertips.”

The Professor flushed a deep red, embarrassed. “I don’t intend to.“

“That’s good to hear. The world needs more love like yours if it’s ever going to get better.”

With a thankful nod, Oberon felt his curiosity get the better of him. “How did you know?” he asked, cheeks growing warm.

“How did I know that you two were together? Professor Oberon, I’m sorry to admit this but anyone with a pair of eyes could see how much you care for each other,” Yibanathi replied. “But don’t worry—your secret is safe with me.”

Flooded with embarrassment, Oberon squeezed her weathered hand and offered an appreciative smile. With a final word of goodbye, Yibanathi released him and leaned back in her chair, watching with a soft gaze as he quickly made his leave.

Just as the door closed behind him, Oberon found himself face to face with Finbar, who still had a look of displeasure on his face. Adjusting his spectacles, the Professor quickly fell into step beside him as he lead the way out of the back alley, thankful that the zoologist’s short legs were easy to keep up with.

“What kind of supplies are we looking for?” Oberon questioned after they rounded another corner.

“Ones of the deadly kind,” Finbar answered, slowing his pace as the sounds of the Bazaar grew louder. “We’re severely undermanned to take on the entirety of Van Pelt’s army. We need to be prepared.”

Oberon felt his stomach drop at the mental image of broken bodies strewn along the jungle floor. Clenching his hands into fists, he willed himself to push the memory from his head, pausing beside Finbar as the man peaked around a nearby wall.

“Since it’s just us two, it will be a lot harder for them to spot us,” the zoologist murmured, voice low. “I’ll need you to keep behind me at all times. Got it?”

Oberon nodded, a sudden desperation bubbling within his chest. “Wait—before we do this, I wanted to speak with you for a moment. If I could.”

Finbar glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “We aren’t exactly gifted with much time, Professor.”

“I know. I just—I wanted to apologize. For everything,” Oberon stuttered, looking away. “I’m sorry for the way I reacted. It was foolish of me, and I—“

“I forgive you.”

The Professor paused, eyes wide. Looking back at Finbar, he almost thought he heard the other man incorrectly.

“You do?”

Moving incrementally closer, Finbar stared at him with an unreadable expression. “I understand why you were upset, Professor. I told Alexander that it was a bad idea to keep the entire thing a secret from you, and he did not listen. I cannot fault you for behaving the way you did.”

Oberon blanched. “You aren’t mad?”

“I won’t say I appreciated the insults, but then again we should have told you everything from the beginning. It’s not in my nature to be deceitful.”

With a nervous fluttering breath, the Professor forced himself to meet the other man’s eyes. “I still can’t express how remorseful I am, Mouse. Thank you for understanding.”

Clapping him on the shoulder, the zoologist turned and craned his head around the corner of the wall, one hand gripping the cracked clay surface. Seeing that it was clear, Finbar pointed in the direction of the Bazaar and stealthily sauntered forward, hat pulled down over his eyes. As he began to follow the zoologist’s lead, Oberon suddenly stopped in the middle of the street, confused.

“Alexander?”

 

 

As expected, the Bazaar was just as busy as it had been the day before, each clamoring sound of the marketplace deafening to their ears. The bustling of merchants and villagers in the streets sent a wave of anxiety through Oberon, and he deliberately kept his head bent forward, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Just a few paces ahead, Finbar weaved through the throng of bodies that pushed past them, eyes scanning the area for any sign of immediate danger.

After they weaved through several winding streets, the pair came to a stop outside a modest stall that was stocked to the brim with a variety of weapons. Finbar ordered Oberon to stay put and quickly made way towards the main seller. Leaning against a nearby wall, Oberon dragged his eyes over the crowd of people that traveled past, the chattering of native dialects soothing to his ears.

As the crowd parted for but a split second, Oberon felt the blood run cold in his veins. On the other side of the street, a man was staring directly at him, the whites of his eyes clearly visible in the midday sun.

Pushing himself off the wall, the Professor scrambled toward where Finbar stood, throwing a glance over his shoulder as he reached a shaking hand for the zoologist. Just as quickly as he had appeared, the stranger had vanished—the spot he had previously vacated now empty. Noticing Oberon’s sudden appearance at his side, Finbar turned toward him with narrowed eyes.

“I thought I told you to wait over there,” he hissed under his breath.

The Professor remained frozen in the awkward position, his mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land. One finger was weakly pointed toward the opposite wall, still lacking the man that had previously been leaning against it.

“I—I thought I saw—“

The brush of a hand against his back made the Professor jump, and Finbar quickly spun him back around with a hardened expression on his face. “Professor, what did you see?”

“A man. He was—staring at me. On the other side of the street.”

Finbar glanced toward the area behind Oberon, eyebrows drawn together as he stared.

“What did he look like?”

“I don’t know. I don’t—I don’t remember.”

The tension in the air was palpable, just as heavy and intense as the sun was overhead. Finbar moved back toward the weapons stall and grabbed his rucksack, a dark expression on his face as he scanned the surrounding area.

“We need to move. The faster we get our supplies, the faster we can get the hell out of here.”

Oberon didn’t need to be told twice. In an instant, both men pushed themselves back into the sea of people that flooded the narrow street. Swallowing the viscosity that lodged itself in his throat, the Professor kept his eyes locked onto the familiar boonie hat on Finbar’s head, his uneasiness growing with each and every step.

It took the pair less time than initially expected to gather the remainder of their necessities, for which the Professor had been extremely thankful. As they traveled through the twisted narrow streets, Oberon had consistently kept careful watch, sneaking furtive glances over his shoulder every time they rounded another corner. On the few occasions that the Professor lost sight of Finbar and began to panic for a second or two, the zoologist managed to reappear beside him with an annoyed glower and a newfound speedy gait. Oberon’s stomach had twisted itself into a knot at the stress of it all, and he found himself only growing more anxious as they traveled further up the mountainside.

The final stop for supplies had been so out of sight for the pair that they had neary missed it upon first glance. An unassuming wooden door that had once been painted a vibrant red had now lost its rich color after many years of presumed use. Sitting between two extravagant textile shops, the door had been nearly obscured by a plethora of hanging rugs and tapestries. Finbar caught sight of it just in time, and tugged Oberon along as they veered toward the door with barely concealed impatience.

“Alright,” Finbar began, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be in and out in a few minutes. I need you to take this.”

In the palm of his hand, the zoologist held out a sheathed knife, the hilt of the dagger a shiny silver.

“Are you insane?!” Oberon hissed, trying to keep his voice low as he gaped at the weapon. “I’m not taking that!”

“Professor, listen to me. I don’t know how long I might be, and if I’m not out here to protect you, then you need to protect yourself.”

The phantom scent of blood hit Oberon so strongly that it made his eyes water. He could feel the heat of the pistol in hand, and he grit his teeth, willing the memory to dissipate.

“I can’t—I can’t take it.”

Finbar reached a hand for Oberon’s clenched fist, drawing the fingers back as he set the knife’s handle in his palm. “I know that it isn’t easy for you, Professor, but I don’t have any other choice. I promised Seaplane that I would keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. You take this knife, and you stay here, and you jab this into anyone who tries to hurt you.”

Oberon nodded, feeling his skin burn hot under the scrutiny of Finbar’s gaze. Forcing himself to take the dagger in his shaking grip, the Professor pulled back and situated himself against the brick wall. Finbar assessed him for a few moments, looking as if he had more to say. Not a second later, he pushed through the red door and disappeared from Oberon’s sight. The archaic latch locked into place with a rattle, and Oberon immediately set his gaze back onto the marketplace before him, skimming over the unfamiliar faces with his fingers tightly wrapped around the metal dagger.

The intense heat of midday had not dwindled over the pair’s journey across the Bazaar. Oberon’s nape was drenched in sweat, and the hairs that managed to escape the confines of his pith helmet were plastered to his forehead. Fiddling with the dagger, the Professor snapped open one of the pockets at his belt and gingerly set the weapon inside, the hilt now warmed by the intensity of Oberon’s grip. Pushing the wire frames of his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, the Professor nervously eyed the crowd of people that continued to flow past him.

Colorful hijabs and long tunics with intricate needlework were a comforting sight to the Professor. To his left, a group of men walked by in burnous uniforms, the tan material cinched with a thick red belt. Another group passed by not a second later, three women carrying clay pots filled with lush green vegetation. As he surveyed the crowd, the Professor lamented the fact that had their situation not been so dire, he would rather be enjoying himself.

It was at that moment that a single bullet whizzed past Oberon’s right ear, hitting the clay wall behind him with an explosive rage. The choking cloud of dust that sprang forth momentarily blinded him, and he threw himself to the ground as he hacked up the bitter grain caught in his throat. Another gunshot pierced the air, and the simultaneous shrieks of bystanders caused Oberon to press himself flat against the dirt street, hands firmly clasped over the helmet on his head.

The distant clang of the door swinging open was barely audible over the now panicked crowd that hurtled past, kicking up more plumes of dirt. Finbar emerged from the cloud of dust with a pistol in hand, and helped the Professor to his feet as two more rounds of gunfire sounded off.

“Where the hell are they shooting from!” Oberon yelled, ducking beside a nearby cart. Finbar pushed in beside him and reloaded the chamber, snapping the barrel shut as he craned his head around.

“I can’t tell, there’s too much dust in the air! I can’t see anything!”

Another bullet whistled by, sinking into the dirt with a muted thump. Finbar pulled back, teeth gritted together in anger. Two more rounds of gunfire went off as the Professor screamed, voice shaking as the bullets clipped the ground beside them.

Finbar snarled in frustration, turning his head just far enough to glance around the wooden cart. Pulling back in time to avoid another gunshot, he removed the heavy rucksack from his back and pushed it towards Oberon.

“There’s a mirror in the front pocket! Find it and give it to me!” Finbar ordered, his voice nearly drowned by the now chaotic frenzy of the Bazaar. Spinning around, he fired off two shots before immediately ducking back behind the protection of the cart.

With shaking fingers, the Professor ripped open the front pocket and dug his hand into it. Gripping the cool glass in hand, he extracted the circular object and held it out for Finbar to take. Wrapping his fingers around the long handle, Finbar lifted the mirror up and angled it behind them, snapping the hammer of his pistol into place.

In one fluid motion, Finbar rose to his feet and fired three consecutive shots towards the top of the buildings opposite to them. Oberon held his breath as he waited for another bullet to blaze past them, cracking open an eyelid as the moment never came. Finbar remained crouched at his side, his pistol level to his cheek as he checked the mirror once more. Throwing it to the ground, he faced Oberon, eyebrows drawn tightly together.

“We need to go— _now!_ ”

With a sturdy push, Oberon became exposed to the pandemonium of the Bazaar, nearly falling face-first into an overturned fruit stand that had spilled out over the street. Finbar kept a careful hand at his shoulder as he forced the Professor into the frantic sea of people that rushed past, their screams deafening to Oberon’s ears as he blindly pushed forward, ears ringing and chest heaving at the effort.

After what had felt like an eternity, Finbar finally maneuvered the Professor toward the next adjunct street, and the two thankfully emerged from the mob of people unscathed. Resting against the wall, Oberon fixed Finbar with his blurry gaze and worked to take in air.

“Th-thank you, Mouse... I thought... I thought I was...” Oberon wheezed, trailing off as his side began to ache.

Finbar nodded in understanding, resting his palms on his knees as he also heaved in gulps of air. Meeting the zoologist’s eyes, Oberon gave him a nod in return and moved his head to the side, gazing into the now empty street to their right.

“Bravestone and the others—they should be just a few streets down. I think if we continue down this alley, we should come up right beside it—if we’re lucky, and they’re still there.”

Not waiting for a response, Finbar straightened himself up and began to slowly make his way down the street. Mustering as much energy as he could, Oberon followed behind him, heart still hammering in his chest as the distant wails of people in the distance sent shivers down his spine.

 

 

Just as Finbar had promised, the alleyway had emptied out into one of the long, main streets of the Bazaar. A multitude of frightened shopkeepers and local villagers had crowded along the sides of the marketplace, parents holding children in their arms as they sped down the paths with fear on their faces. Vendors pulled down heavy curtains and barred their doors shut, seeking refuge in the little shops as the possibility of danger still lurked.

Oberon stuck close to the nearest huddle of people that passed through the open clearing, four entrances marked on either side of the area. Finbar marched just a metre or so in front of him, signaling with a discreet jerk of his head to move to the right. Just as they rounded the nearest corner, Oberon felt the air leave his lungs as a hand shot out to grasp at his arm. Before he could let out a scream, Seaplane emerged from behind the corner, his dark eyes wide as he took in the sight of the other man.

“Seaplane!” the Professor gasped, eyes beginning to water as he immediately reached for the other man. Without hesitation, the pilot enveloped him in a excruciating hug, and Oberon sagged against him as relief flooded through his body, wrapping his arms around the man’s torso.

“Oh my _God_ —Shelly, I was so worried about you,” Seaplane whispered in his ear, tightening his hold on the Professor as he buried his face into Oberon’s shoulder. “I’m so glad that you’re safe.”

Oberon felt the beginnings of teardrops threatening to fall, and immediately clamped down on his emotions as he continued to embrace the pilot. “I was worried about you, too.”

Pulling back, Seaplane frantically gave the Professor a once-over, searching the other man for any sign of injury. “You’re okay? You aren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine, Mouse made sure I was okay.”

Suddenly remembering the other man’s presence, Oberon turned his attention toward the zoologist and felt his blood run cold as Finbar, Roundhouse, and Bravestone all stared at them, identical knowing expressions on their faces. Immediately letting go of Seaplane’s shoulders, Oberon cleared his throat and moved forward, avoiding their eyes.

“Thanks again Mouse,” Oberon began, voice still shaky with a mixture of anxiety and embarrassment.

“Don’t thank me, yet. We still need to get out of here in one piece. But—you are welcome.”

With a small smile, Bravestone stepped forward, glancing behind the couple as he surveyed their surroundings. “We found a safe exit to the Bazaar. It isn’t too far, but we’ll have to leave now if we’re going to make it.”

Seaplane discreetly reached for the Professor’s hand, threading their fingers together as he stared down Bravestone. “Alright. Let’s get moving.”

Oberon tried to fight the heated flush that spread across his cheeks, eyeing Seaplane’s reassuring smile from the corner of his eye. Without another word, the group quickly fell into step and sidled along the outer wall, the Professor gripping Seaplane’s hand with newfound strength.

Bravestone’s intimidatingly broad figure was visible even behind Mouse and Roundhouse, and with one gloved hand he gestured toward a nearby street, shadowed by the high walls of the Bazaar. Stopping for only a moment, Bravestone took another glance around the area, now devoid of people who had fled the area in fright.

“Okay. Follow me and stay low,” Bravestone muttered, beginning to venture forward with clenched fists. The group followed with little hesitation, and Oberon felt his heart hammer as Seaplane carefully stepped closer with a guarded stance.

Bravestone and the others had made effective work of planning an escape route, and the Professor was relieved when they emerged into the blinding brightness of what looked like the outer limits of the Bazaar. A mob of displaced shopkeepers and local tourists crowded the area, though their initial panic had grown stale in the aftermath of the event. Bravestone came to a stop as he eyed the opposite end of the courtyard, eyebrows drawn together. In the distance, a inconspicuous archway sat near the corner of the intersecting walls.

“Theres an entrance to an abandoned garrison on the other side of that wall,” Bravestone announced, turning to face their group. “It’s beneath the surface of the village, and connected to the sewer system. If we can make it there, the waterways should lead us right out of the Bazaar and into the jungle.”

“I’m not as good of a map reader as you are, Professor, but I think the exit should put us right about here,” Roundhouse interjected, handing the map back to the cartographer.

Taking the worn paper in his grip, Oberon trailed a finger across the path that Roundhouse had mentioned. With a nod, he looked up at her, feeling elated at the revelation.

“If you’re right, these sewers should empty out into this basin here. There’s a canyon to cross, and then the valley that lies at the top of these mountains. That’s where we’ll find the Jaguar shrine.”

Bravestone became overcome by a look of determination, the intensity of his gaze amplified by the glint of sunlight in his eyes. Turning back to face the other end of the courtyard, he squared his shoulders and motioned for the others to follow. Folding the map and shoving it into the pocket of his vest, Oberon quickly trailed behind Seaplane as they made their way towards their escape.

Suddenly, the overwhelming sense of eyes on him caused Oberon to falter in his step, and as he glanced behind his shoulder he immediately ran into an unknown figure. Swiveling his head around, the Professor gasped as a burly man impeded his way, his dark beard and sunken eyes sending a jolt of horror down the cartographer’s spine.

Without a single word, the man before him extracted an enormous knife, the glint of the jagged metal refracting the blinding sun from above. With a panicked yell, Oberon jolted backwards and fell to the ground, eyes unblinking as the other man began to stalk forward.

The shriek of an observant bystander caused the entirety of the courtyard to erupt into panic, and suddenly the blur of bodies rushing past caused the Professor to lose sight of the other man. Crawling away as fast as he could, Oberon felt his stomach drop as the man reappeared in his peripheral, shoving through the line of bodies that were in the way of his path.

Out of nowhere, Seaplane burst from the crowd and spun around in a frenzy, calling out the Professor’s name before he caught sight of him. Feeling fear grip his heart as the other man’s attention was drawn to Seaplane, Oberon hurried to his knees and let out a startled yell, pointing in the stranger’s direction.

“Seaplane, watch out!” Oberon hollered, trying to force his way through the frenzied crowd as Seaplane spun around. Finally noticing the man with the knife, the pilot ducked just in time to avoid the swipe of his blade, raising his fists as he prepared to take on the much larger man.

With quick and concise movements, Seaplane had managed to avoid two more quick jabs of the knife. The man continued to advance on him, and Oberon thought his heart was about to burst as he couldn’t push through the crowd of people that jostled him further away. Reaching a hand forward, he shouted and attempted to break free of the mob, eyes not leaving Seaplane for even a moment.

In the fraction of a second, Bravestone and Roundhouse appeared from either side of the mock circle where the fight was taking place, mirrored fists and feet knocking the other man to the ground. Seaplane dove forward, covering his head as dirt and debris were knocked into the air. Just as Roundhouse stamped a booted foot over the stranger’s windpipe, Bravestone seized the knife from his open grip and tossed it toward Finbar, who was now helping Seaplane to his feet.

Oberon felt a wave of relief hit him so strongly that his knees collapsed under him, and he braced himself on shaking hands to avoid falling face-first into the ground. Seaplane was at his side in an instant, and the smooth texture of his leather jacket a welcome feeling to his now agitated palms.

Gripping the other man with an unbreakable hold, Oberon allowed the pilot to wrap his arms around his shoulders and pull him toward safety, which was now only a few feet away from where Bravestone was now grappling with another man. His punches were audible above the screams of the crowd, the heavy hits thwacking the man’s bruised and battered skin with unyielding intensity. Another man burst forth from the mob, and Roundhouse hurtled forward before beating him into submission, striking him with her clenched fists.

Three deafening rounds of gunfire suddenly silenced the entirety of the courtyard. Freezing in a fighting stance, Bravestone turned his head toward the noise, his expression a mixture of anger and dread. Seaplane immediately pushed himself in front of the Professor, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he also stared in the same direction. Oberon’s confusion immediately morphed into genuine horror as the crowd parted, revealing a group of men that stood with their guns drawn.

At the very front of the group stood a man whom Oberon could only assume was the leader. The heavy overcoat he wore stretched down to his ankles, the collar popped forward and parallel to his sunken cheeks. His skin was sallow even in the bright sunlight, and the Professor immediately caught sight of the man’s left eye, glazed over and milky white.

“Hello, Doctor. Been a long time.”

The blood seemed to freeze in Oberon’s veins as the reality of Van Pelt’s presence hit him. Bravestone didn’t respond to the other man’s words, his eyebrows drawn so tightly together that the Professor worried the skin between them would snap. Raising himself to full height, Bravestone continued to glare at Van Pelt, his gloved hands clenched tightly at his hips.

“I believe you have something that belongs to me,” Van Pelt announced, the deep timbre of his voice sending another shiver down Oberon’s side. Glancing toward Finbar, Oberon’s eyes widened at the sight of the zoologist steadily pointing a gun toward Van Pelt, one hand gripping the left strap of his rucksack. Roundhouse also had her hand wrapped around the hilt of her revolver, still nestled in the holster at her belt.

“You have to end this. I don’t want to hurt you, Russel, but I will if it’s necessary,” Bravestone ground out, the muscles at his temple twitching beneath the skin.

The usage of Van Pelt’s first name made the other man sneer in contempt, and he took an intimidating step forward in retaliation.

“If you wish to spare your own life and the lives of your friends, then it would be wise to hand over the Jewel.”

Bravestone’s nostrils flared in anger as he stalked forward with barely-contained rage. “You let innocent people  _die_ just to fuel you own selfish fantasies! If you think I’d even let you set eyes on the Jewel again, you’re even more misguided than I thought.”

“Very well,” Van Pelt growled, snapping the hammer of his pistol back. “Killing you will be even more rewarding than your surrender.”

Reaching behind him, Seaplane gripped the Professor’s arms with brutal strength, the expression on his face full of anger and fear. Holding onto the leather of his jacket with shaking hands, Oberon felt his eyes grow wide as Van Pelt raised the pistol in his hand, aiming for Bravestone’s forehead.

Before the man could pull the trigger, a thick plume of smoke suddenly burst into the air, and Oberon nearly tumbled over as Seaplane jerked the pair to the side. Gunfire immediately whipped through the thick gray clouds, and Oberon could hardly see in front of him as the smoke entered his lungs. Coughing violently, the Professor’s eyes burned as he clumsily followed Seaplane’s lead. Cracks of bullets against the wall behind him nearly caused Oberon to trip, and he was thankful for the pilot’s steady grip on his hand as they continued to surge forward.

Blindly following the pilot as he crouched low to avoid the random spray of gunfire proved more difficult than Oberon had expected. Gritting his teeth, he continued to duck low with one hand on his pith helmet as the gunfire drew closer. Just as the Professor’s vision was beginning to clear, Seaplane changed direction and the two lept out of the thick smog and descended a flight of stairs before them.

With a blurred gaze, Oberon could just barely see Bravestone and Roundhouse waiting at the bottom of the staircase. As Seaplane and the Professor leapt off the final step, the pair shut the heavy metallic door behind them, twisting the rusted lock into place. Finbar’s silhouette was barely visible in the low light of the underground base, outlined against a molded brick wall. The distant smatter of gunfire above them caused everyone to freeze, eyes plastered to the archaic stone overhead.

“Is everyone alright?” Bravestone questioned, voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m good,” Roundhouse replied, her voice also low. “Seaplane? Mouse?”

“Shelly and I are fine,” the pilot whispered, squeezing the Professor’s hand. Oberon was thankful that the darkness of the chamber hid his rising blush.

Finbar gave a halfhearted sound of affirmation as well, standing just a metre or so ahead of the group. The distant strike of flint echoed in the room, and suddenly Bravestone was holding up a small lighter, illuminating the tiny room with relative ease.

“Where did all that smoke come from?” Oberon questioned, still confused by their apparent escape.

“We had some undercover allies in the village. Their smoke bombs proved even more useful than I thought,” Roundhouse answered. 

Bravestone continued to hold the lighter in front of him, dragging one gloved hand across the wet, mossy walls as he made his way to the front of the group.

“Alright, everyone. Follow me, and try not to make too much noise.”

With the same smoldering intensity that he always had, Bravestone marched down the nearest corridor and into the dark unknown. Seaplane and the Professor each shared a look of amusement, and Oberon was thankful for the moment of respite they shared, their hands firmly intertwined as they followed Bravestone’s lead.

 

 

After what had seemed like an eternity of winding tunnels and never-ending lines of sewage, their group eventually managed to find an exit from the underground system. The large pipes emptied out into a murky basin, surrounded by the lush foliage of the jungle. Oberon was momentarily blinded when the sunlight hit his eyes, his vision adjusted to the damp darkness of the tunnels underground.

Dusk had settled over the tall jungle trees when Bravestone finally announced that they would be setting up camp for the night. Finbar removed the large rucksack on his back with a satisfied groan, and before long Roundhouse had managed to set up a crackling campfire in the middle of their pallets. Oberon had never felt so exhausted and starved in all his life, the smell of cooking beans in a nearby pot just stimulating enough to keep him from falling asleep.

Seaplane was also resting at his side, leaning lazily against the thick trunk of an utile tree. His eyes were unfocused, but every so often he would turn his dark gaze on Oberon. As the Professor began to nod off once more, the pilot let out a muted chuckle, reaching a hand for Oberon’s face. Removing the other man’s glasses, he folded them and set them to the side, ignoring the Professor’s weak protests.

“Can you believe that we were sleeping in real beds and eating full meals just this morning?” Roundhouse announced from the other side of the campfire. “I already miss Yibanathi’s place.”

Finbar hummed in affirmation, taking a seat next to her and removing his hat. Bravestone was nowhere to be seen, and distantly Oberon wondered if the archeologist was scoping the area for any signs of danger.

“I miss hot water, and not having to run away from people shooting at me every five minutes,” Oberon lamented, eyes still closed as he soaked in the heat from the fire. The phantom ring of bullets and gunfire seemed to echo endlessly inbetween his ears. Sliding his eyelids open, the Professor watched as Finbar poked the fire with a narrow stick.

“You get used to it after a while.”

Suddenly recharged with a newfound energy, Oberon leaned forward and entertained a question at the back of his mind. The neutral look of the zoologist’s face looked fabricated, and the Professor cleared his throat as he searched for the right words to say.

“Did you ever meet Van Pelt before this mission? Back when he and Bravestone worked together?”

Finbar’s attention immediately snapped toward Oberon. Seaplane shifted uncomfortably at his side, and the sudden feeling of regret at asking the question began to brew deep in the pit of his stomach. Surprisingly, Finbar looked more tired than angry as he contemplated his response.

“I did, once. It was a long time ago, back when he was a different man.”

Roundhouse had remained silent at his side, her arms crossed and a look of deep displeasure furrowing her brow.

“Bravestone is a good man. He won’t hurt Van Pelt because of their history together,” she growled. “If he wasn’t so sentimental, he would put a bullet between the bastard’s eyes.”

Oberon chewed his bottom lip, a deep feeling of discomfort settling over him. Finbar didn’t respond to Roundhouse’s statement, merely moving back to poking the fire with his dwindling branch.

“Bravestone will deal with Van Pelt in whatever way he sees fit,” Seaplane interrupted, sliding his hand loosely around the Professor’s back. “For now, I say we eat some food and then try to go to sleep.”

Neither Roundhouse or Finbar offered more than a few solemn nods in response. As they waited for the remainder of their food to cook, Oberon settled back beside Seaplane, removing his pith helmet and setting it on a nearby root. As the pilot rubbed a discrete hand against his side, Oberon allowed his eyes to close once again, the soft rustling of the jungle leaves a gentle lull against his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I stated at the beginning, I can’t make any promises on when the last chapter will be out. All I can say is it’s going to be long as hell, and expect a ton of drama and heartbreak and action. Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are appreciated as always. My twitter is @drakepad if anyone wants to tweet me daily and motivate me to write faster.


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